It's Just Allergies
by Allaine
Summary: When Poison Ivy's well-being is threatened by an unexpected source, Harley Quinn wants her to know she doesn't have to be alone anymore.  My first Batman fic, so R&R is very appreciated.
1. Default Chapter

(Author's Note: This is inspired by the animated series more than the comic book, but since that section of fanfiction.net seems to be something of a ghost town, I thought I'd try posting this here. Sorry if this was a faux pas.)  
  
  
Title: It's Just Allergies (1/??)  
Author: Allaine  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
Distribution: Probably at fanfiction.net and the factsofslash group. Anyone interested should just ask, and can expect a positive answer.  
Spoilers: Takes place after the New Batman/Superman Adventures, with one alteration - in my story, Ivy's skin never turned white like the Joker's. So she still looks like you and me.  
Feedback: Well, this fanfic is uncharted territory for me, so reader opinions may very well determine whether I finish it or not. So I would encourage it even more than usual.  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimers: All characters belong to . . . let's see, DC Comics, Kids WB and the Cartoon Network, the producers of the two Batman serials, the talented artists and voice actors, etc. I have borrowed them entirely without permission, for which I humbly beg forgiveness, but I seek no form of profit from this undertaking.  
Summary: When Poison Ivy finds her well-being threatened by the unlikeliest of sources, Harley Quinn proves that Ivy doesn't have to be alone anymore, ever again. My first Batman fanfiction.  
_____________________________________________  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Much like some of her beloved plants, Pamela Isley, a.k.a. Poison Ivy, woke up with the sun. It didn't matter that she didn't get any sunlight in her cell. Her biological clock seemed to know each morning the exact time of sunrise.  
  
Yawning, she slowly sat up and swung her legs off the bed. Looking out the transparent partition that kept her inside, she saw that, as usual, no one else appeared to be awake. The lights were not yet on in the corridor, and the occupant of the room across from hers, the sadly deluded Maxie Zeus, did not move under his blanket.  
  
Ivy smoothed her auburn hair back with her fingers before getting up. And, as usual, her first step was not to wash or do exercises. It was to tend to her lovelies, her plants.  
  
At the moment she had three she was cultivating. For a while now, the doctors who ran Arkham had decided to confiscate her plants after a few weeks' time. They had witnessed her innocent-looking flowers, ferns, and vines wreak harm on both person and property one too many times. But she still had a week or two with these, she figured.  
  
"And how are you this morning?" she asked the one on the left quietly. It seemed to droop forlornly in the dim light, bereft of any bloom or exotic marking. Just your common, ordinary houseplant. One might almost think it wax, like the ones you found in cheap Italian restaurants.  
  
As it happened, it was not ordinary. Nor was it dangerous, she thought absently. It was more of a flight of fancy for her. She had bred a strain of flowering vine which, at sunset every night, would grow blossoms of a striking red and yellow color almost instantly. And yet, the flowers would wither and die within ten minutes, just like a sunset. And just like her, it did not need a window to know when it was sunset. Like her, it just knew.  
  
"My shooting star vine," she whispered. Yes, it was very much like one. It flared brilliantly, but then it was gone much too . . .  
  
Suddenly there were two vines in her vision, and she rubbed her eyes as they watered. "More tired than I . . ." she began, but she was unable to finish.  
  
Her nose hitching, she took several short, deep breaths before she let loose an uncontrollable sneeze. Fortunately she had been able to turn away, so she didn't shoot germs all over her plants. They were very sensitive in the developing phase. It wouldn't do to just disrupt all that.  
  
Ivy lost her train of thought, however, when she sneezed violently three more times. The third time, she was able to put her hands to her face, and her fingers were splattered with a disgusting mucus.  
  
"Ugh!" she said, revolted. She hurried to her personal sink and washed her fingers off. "Just what I need, a cold," she muttered. She almost never got common colds, which just made the few times she did all the more unpleasant.  
  
Looking around, she saw no signs that her sneezing fit had woken any other inmates. Nor did she hear any complaints. Shrugging, she wiped her nose and went back to check on her plants.  
  
Five minutes later she was forced to return to bed, shaking like (no pun intended) a leaf. The entire time she had attempted to examine the progress of her shooting star vine and the other two specimens, she had been afflicted with a variety of ailments. Sneezing, watery eyes, a dry cough, even a moment or two of nausea. When it got so bad that she felt like she was about to pass out with fever, she had stumbled away from the table and back to her bed.   
  
"I hate being sick," she pouted. And they would keep her isolated from the other patients because if they got sick, the doctors wouldn't be able to help them for fear of having the treatment conflict with their _other_ medications.  
  
Putting the back of her hand to her forehead, she thought it felt slightly hot, but nothing too worrisome. What worried her was when she took her hand away and saw what was on her wrist.  
  
She was sure that when she woke up, there had been nothing there but her normally creamy pale skin. And yet now, there was an ugly red rash on her left wrist. It began to itch even as she studied it.  
  
Poison Ivy growled. "If I was out," she hissed, "I would have it taken care of within minutes with one of my herbal remedies. And since when do I get rashes? And where did it come from?" What had her left wrist touched recently? When she sneezed? No, that had just gotten on the fingers of her right hand. Or . . .  
  
She glanced over at the third plant she was raising. If the authorities would only let her keep it for another month or so, it would start sprouting small pods that, when squeezed, squirted a corrosive agent with an effect similar to Mace. At the moment, however, it only had very broad leaves. The pods would grow underneath those leaves, and so she had carefully inspected the stalk under the leaves while gently raising the leaves with her left - wrist.  
  
"That's absurd," she scoffed. "I couldn't have made a mistake that badly." She could always test it with her other wrist.  
  
Then she looked at her left wrist again. Tiny welts were starting to form.  
  
"Then again, maybe not," she said, not wanting to risk having itching bumps all over her arms. She would see the doctor as soon as they let her, that was all.  
  
Ivy sniffled and burrowed deeper into her pillow. It wasn't often she found herself unable to look at her plants.  
______________________________________________  
  
"You had an allergic reaction," Dr. Warner said calmly.  
  
"Excuse me? I don't have allergies. My medical history says I don't have any, doesn't it?" Ivy folded her arms. No competent doctor would work at a place like Arkham.  
  
"Yes, I see that," he replied, going through her record, "but some allergies only develop later in life. Or perhaps you were exposed to something you haven't had contact before. But all the signs are there. Your body found something it didn't like, and it overreacted. Like carpet bombing a cricket."  
  
"But I was fine until this morning," she protested.  
  
He nodded. "Did you encounter anything which could have caused such a reaction?"  
  
"All I did between the time I woke up and when I started sneezing," she recalled, "was get out of bed and start checking my plants."  
  
"Perhaps your plants were the cause."  
  
She stared at him. "Doctor, you know my history as well as anyone else in this booby hatch," she said flatly. "As well as anyone in the entire city of _Gotham_. So why don't you listen to yourself when you say that again?"  
  
He flushed slightly. "Yes, well, of course, we couldn't expect an experienced botanist to suddenly become allergic to her own plants," he admitted. "Only, have your symptoms returned?"  
  
"No," she realized. "In fact . . ." She looked at her wrist. The redness was fading. "The itching has subsided as well, Doctor."  
  
"Well then," he said, "like I thought. You have an allergy to something. Perhaps it was something you ate last night, and you suffered a delayed reaction. Still, just to be on the safe side, you might want to move your potted plants outside of your cell."  
  
She sneered at him. "Nice try, Doctor. If they want to confiscate my plants, they can fucking do it themselves." Getting up, she stormed out.  
  
He watched her leave. "We'll see," he murmured.  
___________________________________________  
  
"Pamela Isley, vegetarian plate," the cook said in a bored tone.  
  
"Thanks," she muttered, taking her lunch. She quickly found an empty table and started eating. "Well, I'm not allergic to dead plants, that's for sure," she thought as she ate her salad.  
  
She wasn't alone for long before someone sat down in front of her. "Hey, Ivy. Mind if I sit down?"  
  
Ivy smiled a little. "Sure thing, Harley. What, the Joker isn't here yet?"  
  
"No, Mr. J wants to be fashionably late this afternoon," Harley Quinn said cheerfully. When Ivy said nothing, she scrunched up her face in thought. "Besides, I want to sit with you today."  
  
"Thanks, I guess."  
  
Harley rested her elbows on the table and leaned her chin on her folded hands. "What happened to your hand?"  
  
Ivy rubbed her wrist idly. The redness continued to fade, but the bumps were still there, and they itched a little. "Just an itch. It'll be gone by the end of the day." Pausing in her eating, she considered the young woman in front of her.  
  
Harley Quinn was a truly frustrating woman. She practically fawned over the Joker, like the most pathetic kind of groupie. Mr. J? What the hell kind of nickname was that? Her voice could get annoying at times, she could be blindingly dense sometimes, and even after a couple years of Ivy trying to instill a little self-esteem into the girl, it was like filling a sinkhole with marbles.  
  
For all that, Harley was the only human friend she had. When they were out on the town and Ivy was feeling naughty, Harley was right there with her (when the Joker didn't crook his finger or sit in a padded cell). She seemed genuinely attached to Ivy, when most people avoided her like the plague. Then again, most people believed she could give them the plague if she wanted to (she could, but too much effort). And to be honest, for anybody else, would she have even bothered trying to build up their independence? For _years_?  
  
Looking at Harley, Ivy realized how much she had in common with her shooting star vine. Perhaps that was even where she had gotten the idea. When she was in action, she was a brilliant ball of red and black energy. But she feared that Harley was destined to flame out much too soon. Most likely her beloved Mr. J would put her in the morgue.  
  
If he ever did, she would hunt him down and shove a cactus down his throat.  
  
"Uh, Ivy? Is something wrong?"  
  
Ivy looked down and saw she was clenching her fork so hard that her skin was turning white. "Nothing, Harley, I was just thinking about something. And don't put your elbows on the table."  
  
As if to prove her point, a stray elbow hit Harley squarely in the back of her head, causing her arms to fly out from under her. Her face fell into her lunch.  
  
"I couldn't agree more, Pamela. Her table manners are execrable. Just look at her stuffing her face like that." With that, the Joker made one of those mad cackles that drove Ivy up the wall and continued on to get his lunch.  
  
Harley slowly raised her head. Her face was a mess. "Ha ha, good one," she whispered.  
  
Ivy sighed with compassion. "Here, Harley," she said, picking up her napkin. Calmly she tried to wipe her face clean, but inside she was seething. That arrogant bastard . . .  
  
"Why do you let him do that to you?"  
  
"I'll get him back one of these days," Harley assured her weakly.  
  
"When was the last time you 'got him back'?"  
  
"That time he hired an actress to replace me," she instantly replied. "I broke out of here and beat him black and blue on the way back."  
  
Ivy remembered that one. Harley had escaped through the laundry. Since it was the oldest trick in the book, no one thought of it. When the Joker had returned, he had two black eyes to go with his two black eyes.  
  
She also remembered that three days later, Harley had been sent to the infirmary. She had denied knowing who had twisted her arm behind her back so badly that she dislocated her shoulder, sprained her wrist, and slipped a disc. "And how about before that?" she asked sadly.  
  
Harley looked down. "It's not easy playing jokes on Mr. J. Everyone's too afraid to laugh at him. Nobody's afraid of me, so it makes more sense . . ." Her voice trailed off, as if even she was too embarrassed to continue in that vein.  
  
Right then and there, Ivy decided she would give her shooting star vine to Harley that night. Not that it was making her sneeze or anything, of course, but her friend needed it more than she did.  
  
"Maybe she needs a bib," the Joker said out of the corner of his mouth as he came back the other way.   
  
Instinctively, Ivy picked up one of her cherry tomatoes and flung it at him. It smacked him squarely on the back of his head. He spun around and glared at her, but she just looked innocent. Grinding the tomato beneath his heel, he stormed off.  
  
Everyone witnessed it. But like Harley had said, no one laughed.  
__________________________________________  
  
"Doctor?"  
  
"Yes, Miss Isley?" Dr. Warner asked as he stood outside her cell. "What is it?"  
  
Ivy was pressed against the partition, as far from the table where her plants were as possible. Those beautiful red and yellow blossoms had appeared, regular as clockwork, and almost instantly her throat had seized up. Her eyes watered and her nose itched, but she didn't notice as she gasped for air. Even now her mouth was pressed against the holes in the glass, breathing the air that passed through the hall outside her room.  
  
Anyone else would have said she was having a severe allergic reaction to pollen, but it simply didn't happen to her. Her plants could never harm her. She looked back briefly and sneezed loudly.  
  
Turning to face him again, he could have told her if he wished that her face was all red and blotchy, making her look much less attractive than she normally was. "Take them away," she said. She would have sounded defeated if she was able to muster more than a croak. "Take the flowers to Harley Quinn, and just put the others somewhere else."  
  
"Of course," he told her, snapping his fingers. Two orderlies materialized. "Take the flowering plant to Miss Quinn. Tell her it's a 'gift' from Miss Isley."  
  
"I was going to give it to her anyway," she protested feebly.  
  
"Indeed. Bring the other two to the solarium for now. Maybe with proper treatment, she won't need to be kept separate from them for long." He looked down at her dispassionately. "After all, Miss Isley needs her beauty sleep."  
  
When they were gone, she sat alone in her cell. Her breathing was slowly returning to normal. And she felt very alone.  
  
She almost never cried, but that night she did.  
  
To be continued . . . 


	2. Chapter Two

Title: It's Just Allergies (2/??)  
Author: Allaine  
Email: eac2nd@y...  
Distribution: Probably at fanfiction.net and the  
factsofslash group. Anyone interested should just ask, and can expect a positive answer.  
Spoilers: Takes place after the New Batman/Superman Adventures, with one alteration - in my story, Ivy's skin never turned white like the Joker's. So she still looks like you and me.  
Feedback: Well, this fanfic is uncharted territory for me, so reader opinions may very well determine whether I finish it or not. So I would encourage it even more than usual.  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimers: All characters belong to . . . let's see, DC Comics, Kids WB and the Cartoon Network, the producers of the two Batman serials, the talented artists and voice actors, etc. I have borrowed them entirely without permission, for which I humbly beg forgiveness, but I seek no form of profit from this undertaking.  
Summary: When Poison Ivy finds her well-being threatened by the unlikeliest of sources, Harley Quinn proves that Ivy doesn't have to be alone anymore, ever again. My first Batman fanfiction.  
_____________________________________________  
  
Chapter 2  
  
"Yes, please come in, Pamela," Dr. Park said cordially. "And how are we doing this morning?"  
  
"Okay," she replied apathetically as she sat down.  
  
Truth be told, you could tell just by looking at her that she was definitely _not_ okay. She had barely slept the night before. It was not due to her recent bouts of sickness; her symptoms had not returned since the plants were removed from her cell. And yet she had tossed and turned all night, when she wasn't staring up at the ceiling, because she knew something was very wrong with her, and it was throwing off her equilibrium.  
  
Plus, she hadn't fully recovered from her most recent attack. Her face was still all red and tingling, and she had very little energy. To top it all off, she had not cried this much since the time the Batman had ruined her cover as the perfect suburban housewife and forced her to flee the city. She supposed she was clinically depressed at this point.  
  
"Good thing I'm in a mental hospital, then," she thought. She would have started laughing hysterically if she didn't feel so lethargic.  
  
"Oh, come now," the head doctor at Arkham replied. "Here, these tulips will pick you up. Take a big whiff." He pushed a glass vase filled with colorful cut tulips and water towards her.  
  
Ivy hesitated. She really didn't want to risk another episode . . . feeling annoyed by her indecisiveness, as well as her irrational (or was it?) fear of plants, rebelliously she leaned forward and buried her nose in the blooms, smelling deeply.  
  
Their scent was lovely, but more importantly, it didn't cause her to break into a rash or make her eyes water or give her cramps. In fact, it made her feel better already. She closed her eyes and smiled.  
  
"There, you see?" Dr. Park said, a grandfatherly smile on his face in response. "And how about these roses?" He moved the tulips back. In their place he put down one of those potted plants they sold in supermarkets, the kind with purple foil around the pot. The dirt was a deep, rich brown, and the yellow roses looked fresh. "Just watch out for the thorns."  
  
Feeling her self-confidence sweeping aside all her past doubts, Ivy just shot him a look, as if to say, "I think I've handled roses before." Getting out of her chair a little, she bent over and sniffed their familiar aroma.  
  
"You see?" he asked as he took the potted plant and set it next to the files in front of him on the desk.  
  
"Yes, Dr. Park," she said dryly. "That did 'pick me up'."  
  
"No, you don't see," he sighed, shaking his head. "But you will."  
  
She cocked her head, not knowing what he meant. As she was about to ask, however, she was suddenly struck by a wave of nausea. "Oh, God," Ivy groaned. "Not again." She clapped her hands over her mouth as she tasted bile.  
  
Dr. Park just pointed to a side door. "Bathroom is that way, Ms. Isley." He then folded his hands in his lap, as if nothing unusual was happening.  
  
Ivy somehow managed to hold it in until she got to the doctor's toilet. Then she proceeded to regurgitate everything she'd had for breakfast. It hadn't been much that morning, and she was quickly reduced to a series of dry heaves.  
  
When it was finally over, she coughed violently and rubbed the back of her hand over her mouth. "This isn't fair," she moaned as she fell onto her side. "Why is this happening to me?"  
  
She looked up and saw the doctor standing over her. "It's quite simple, Ms. Isley," he replied. "You are allergic to plants, severely allergic."  
  
"You're an idiot," she croaked. "I'm a trained botanist. I've worked with every species of plant imaginable in my life, and I have never had an adverse reaction. I am not allergic to plants!" She was shrieking by that time.  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "Well, not dead ones, anyway." Then he turned around and walked out of the bathroom.  
  
Her eyes narrowed, and she scrambled to her feet. "What the hell was that supposed to mean?" she growled as she followed him back out into his office.  
  
He was sitting at his desk again, looking totally unconcerned by the disturbed woman in front of him. "Well, can't you see? You smelled the tulips, which were cut some time ago, and you felt fine. And I'm told you've been eating your vegetarian platters with no ill effects whatsoever. Yet when you smelled these roses," and he gestured to the pot, "still rooted in soil, you became sick to your stomach. Now do you see?"  
  
Ivy stared at him, appalled. "What did you do to me?"  
  
Dr. Park pointed to her seat. "I'll explain when you sit down."  
  
"You'll tell me now," she hissed, "and then you'll fix whatever it is you've done, or I'll strangle you where you sit. I don't need a choking vine to throttle you."   
  
"I'll tell you when you take your seat," he replied sternly.   
  
Snarling, she leapt at him.  
  
Defensively he took the pot of roses in both hands and held it out in her direction. If she'd been a second slower, she could have reacted in time and simply knocked the ceramic pot aside with her hands.   
  
As it was, however, her outstretched hands had a nasty run-in with the roses' long stems. Several thorns left scratches all over her hands. They began to bleed in four or five places.  
  
"Ow!" she yelped, stumbling backwards. "You dirty son of a . . ." She was unable to finish her thought, because she felt dizzy. It felt like the room was spinning. Before she knew what was happening, her eyes rolled back into her head and she hit the floor like a sack of bricks.  
  
The doctor put the pot back down. Some of the stems were now broken. "A waste," he sighed. Then he got up, sat on the corner of his desk, and waited.  
  
Five minutes later she slowly came to. As her eyes opened, Ivy saw that she was lying on her side, stretched out on the floor. "What happened?" she said thickly.  
  
"You had an especially severe reaction," Dr. Park informed her, "when you were scratched by the thorns. Your bloodstream was affected."  
  
"I'll kill you," she muttered, getting up. The only thing was, she wasn't. Ivy's body had suddenly stopped responding.   
  
"I can't move," she whispered. "Why can't I move?" She tried to move her arms, her legs, something, but all her body did was flop around a little. She felt like a fish out of water.  
  
"I told you," he said patiently. "It's in your bloodstream. Your entire body needs time to recover. Until then, I'm afraid you'll have to remain there. I could help you back into your chair, but you might just fall off. And anyway, obviously you can still move your head, and for all I know you might try to bite my nose off."  
  
"And I would!" she yelled at him. "This is all _your_ fault!"  
  
"No, it's yours," he said quietly. "You're the first patient here to participate in a radical new procedure of my invention. I'm going to ensure that maniacs like you can no longer threaten the people of Gotham."  
  
"What procedure?" Ivy asked. "I don't remember any procedure."  
  
"The other night," he explained. "We had you sedated without your knowledge. Then, while you and everyone else on your wing slept, we had you moved to our surgical room. It's a revolutionary idea, really," he confided. "It takes several hours, but it works wonders, as you can see. We've altered your body on a genetic level, so that you now become sick whenever you touch or smell live plants. The more prolonged the exposure is, the sicker you become. And interestingly enough, the reaction varies depending on the type of plant it is." He seemed almost boyishly pleased with himself.  
  
"But, but that's impossible," she gasped. "It can't be done."  
  
Now it was Dr. Park who rolled his eyes at her. "Think of Clayface, Ms. Isley, and what he's become. Think of the Joker and his bone-white skin, or that 'Man-Bat' who periodically terrorizes this city at night, or Bane and his venom. Then try telling me again that such a procedure is impossible. Or what about the mutated monstrosities you yourself make plants into?"  
  
She had no answer.  
  
"See, that's why I say you brought this on yourself," he continued. "I have reached the conclusion that you cannot be trusted around any plant which you are capable of distorting and twisting. You claim to be a 'defender' of endangered plant life, and to love plants more than people. And yet you warp the very things you claim to love. You make them something they're not, you bend them to your will. You're as much an exploiter of plants as the businessmen you once poisoned."  
  
"Stop it!" Ivy yelled at him. "Just stop it!"  
  
"No, see, I don't have to," Dr. Park reminded her. "Because I'm the head of this asylum, and I can say what I want. And you're temporarily paralyzed, so you can't leave anyway. Pamela, you're a menace to people _and_ to plants. A rose should be a rose, but not after you get your hands on it. Well, I've changed that. Now any exposure to plants can be dangerous." He leaned over her. "Prolonged exposure can be lethal."  
  
She shrank backwards. "You don't mean that."  
  
"Dr. Warner told me you had trouble breathing last night. How long would you have lasted if you'd left those plants in your cell?" he asked.  
  
She couldn't even look away. "Please, stop it, stop it."  
  
In an instant he became the good doctor again. "Not that you can't live a full, normal life. I made sure that you wouldn't be affected by dead plants. After all, we can't have you throwing up every time you put a piece of lettuce in your mouth." He chuckled. "Someone might think you were in here for an eating disorder."  
  
Ivy closed her eyes and tried _willing_ her body to life, but her arms wouldn't respond. She banged her head on the floor softly.  
  
"Oh!" he added. "That reminds me." Returning to his desk, he came back with a signed statement. "Here are your signed release papers. You'll be free to go tomorrow morning."  
  
Just when she thought she couldn't be shocked any further, she stared at him, open-mouthed. "Wh-what? I'm being released? Why?"  
  
"Well, isn't it obvious? You've been rehabilitated! You're no longer a danger to society. Without your plants, you're no more threatening than the average woman of your height and weight." He took her limp hand and, in a half-mocking gesture, pumped it up and down. "One day you'll thank me for this!"  
  
She was going to be sick, and it wasn't because of the roses.  
_______________________________________________  
  
Ivy sat on her bed and stared at the vase filled with tulips which Dr. Park had been so kind, so _generous_ to give her. Their scent served only to underline just how upside-down her life had been turned. She felt like everyone and everything in it was laughing at her.  
  
She wouldn't be here tomorrow. She hated this place; she escaped whenever she could. She should have been glad. Part of her was. The longer she stayed here, the more likely it would become that one of the other inmates would discover her new sickness, and then she'd be able to count her remaining days on her fingers and toes. She was not much to be afraid of without her plants. Unless, of course, the more violent ones chose to let her live as the laughingstock of Arkham, someone they could push around.  
  
She used to be Poison Ivy, but now she had neither the poison nor the ivy. What did that make her? Nothing. Or Pamela Isley, which was much the same thing.  
  
And what would Harley say? Would she think less of her? Certainly this spelled the end of their collaboration in the future; she wouldn't impose her useless self on Harley.  
  
Yes, part of her was very relieved she was leaving. What if Harley took it upon herself to "protect" Ivy from Arkham's predators? That would be funny in other circumstances, but not now, when it would mean Harley Quinn going to the infirmary again, this time because of her.  
  
On the other hand, what did she have to look forward to in the outside world? Her career as a criminal was over. She supposed she could start carrying a gun and rob banks or something, but then everyone would see how she had become different. The mockery of the ignorant masses - that was definitely something she could do without.  
  
Dr. Park had told her what she had to look forward to. He had arranged for her to stay at a halfway house for now. Meanwhile, she would have a job. A fucking _job_. And here was the best part - she was going to work for a floral delivery service. She didn't know if the doctor was trying to be thoughtful or cruel, but her days would consist of carrying around dead flowers, grown and cut down for the sole purpose of making people happy.   
  
She doubted she would last long in this line of work. It was debatable whether she would beat a customer over the head with a bouquet of lilies, or quit in despair after carrying one too many flowers under her nose. Each delivery would be a constant reminder of how much she had lost.  
  
Ivy stared at the tulips. How _noble_ of him.  
  
With a cry, she grabbed the vase and hurled it across the cell. It smashed against the wall and flowers sprayed everywhere.  
  
"Ivy?"  
  
Poison Ivy - no, she was Pamela Isley again; maybe she would dye her hair so that people would not recognize her - looked at the open door. Harley was standing there, looking scared.   
  
"Hi, Harley," she said softly. "Why don't you . . ." Her breath caught in her throat. Only now did she see that Harley was carrying her shooting star vine in her hands. Instinctively she crawled backwards.  
  
Was it instinct for her to shrink from a plant _already_? Oh, hell.  
  
"Come in?" Quinn finished for her. "Thanks." She stepped over shards of broken glass. "So I heard the news."  
  
Ivy sat up straight. "The news?" If that bastard had told everyone about her condition . . .  
  
"You know," Harley answered, beaming now. "They released you. You'll be free again this time tomorrow." She came closer and grinned slyly. "You can tell me," she added in a conspirator's whisper. "Did you seduce another doctor?"  
  
No, of course he wouldn't have told anyone. Despite his assurances, Ivy suspected this wasn't entirely on the up-and-up. She wondered what the Bat would think about it. But she couldn't tell anyone; it was too humiliating to even consider.  
  
"They think I've been rehabilitated," Ivy told her. "I didn't do anything." Boy, was that the truth.  
  
"Oh, come on," Harley scoffed. She was now close enough with her flowering plant that Ivy's back was flush against the wall. "People like us will never be rehabilitated. I mean, I tried, remember? I tried to be good. I even thought after they brought me back in, okay, I got that one little slip-up out of the way, and that'd be it. But it didn't happen that way."  
  
Ivy knew why. Her "puddin" had poured on the charm the following month. He'd heard about her kissing the Bat, and it had driven him insane with possessiveness. No one took something of the Joker's. So he twisted her around his finger again, and when Harley had come down for lunch one day with a black eye, fawning over him, Ivy knew Harley's fling with the straight line was over. She had come to despise the Joker even more that day.  
  
"Yeah, I couldn't be the good girl and still be with Mr. J," Harley went on blithely. "Or you," she added.  
  
The other woman blinked, and then blushed a little. Harley had never told her that.  
  
"So what's the real story?" Harley asked. "And what's with the throwing things?" She sat down next to Ivy.  
  
Ivy felt her nose hitching, and she edged away from Harley. "Oh, you know, I can't stand those things. They're just the victims of a billion-dollar industry that exploits flowers so men can get women into bed."  
  
"That reminds me," Harley said. "I think it's broken."  
  
"What is?"  
  
"This plant you had them bring to me," she said. "Thanks, by the way."  
  
"You're - welcome," Ivy replied.  
  
"Anyway, it had these pretty flowers all over it yesterday, and they came out of nowhere," Harley said excitedly. "And then, like ten minutes later, they all turned brown and fell off." She held it up for Ivy's inspection.  
  
Panicking, Ivy moved still further away from Harley, but the confused young woman just pursued her.  
  
"Atchoo!" she sneezed. And again. And again.  
  
"Bless you," Harley told her.  
  
"Just put it down over there," Ivy managed to tell her through her gasps and sneezes.  
  
Looking more confused than ever, Harley put the plant on the floor, and Ivy felt her nose returning to normal.  
  
"It's called a shooting star vine, something I invented," Ivy told her. "And it's doing what it's supposed to be doing. You'll get more blossoms like that every night at sunset, and then they're gone a few minutes later."  
  
"Ohhh, I get it," Harley answered brightly. "That's where the name comes from."  
  
"Precisely."  
  
"So," Harley continued, becoming utterly serious, "you gonna tell me what's wrong?"  
  
Ivy looked away. "Nothing's wrong."  
  
"You're about to be released from Arkham, which is really weird by itself, and nobody knows why. And you don't look happy about it. And you won't look at my plant, and you keep sneezing. Is that why you gave this to me?" Harley asked, hurt. "Because you didn't want it anymore?"  
  
"No!" Ivy replied. "I wanted you to have it because, well, it made me think of you. You're like a sudden flash of color too, you know?"  
  
It was now Harley's turn to blush, but she wasn't entirely satisfied. "Okay. Then how come the rest of your plants are gone? And what's with the cold?"  
  
"It's not a cold, it's just . . . allergies," Ivy finished lamely.  
  
"But you don't have allergies. And there's nothing here for you to be allergic too. Except - "  
  
"Go, Harley," Ivy interrupted, turning away from her. "Just leave. I want to be alone right now, okay?"  
  
"Red, please," Harley said, putting a hand on her shoulder.  
  
Nobody called her Red besides Harley. Ivy liked that nickname, but hearing it now, it made her hurt that much more painful. "I mean it, Harley. Go. Go back to your precious puddin'." She curled up and faced the wall.  
  
"Red . . ."  
  
"Get the fuck out of here!" she screamed.  
  
She felt Harley's hand leave her shoulder suddenly, as if jolted. "Yeah, sure, whatever," Harley muttered, annoyed. Scooping up her plant, she stormed out of the cell.  
  
Harley stopped in the hallway outside of Ivy's cell. She watched, unnoticed, as Ivy cried silently in the corner. More concerned than ever now, she left to put her plant back and think things through.  
____________________________________________  
  
"Well, Pamela, I hope this is the last time we see your pretty face here," Dr. Park told her as he faced her outside of Arkham.  
  
"Thank you, Doctor," she said through clenched teeth as she carried in a box her few possessions that weren't plants.  
  
"And remember - the more you stay away from those plants of yours, the less likely you return to a life of crime," he reminded her.  
  
Or, she thought, the less she stayed away from them, the more likely she lost her life, period. She thought of how he had called prolonged exposure "lethal", and she shuddered.  
  
Looking up at the walls of Arkham, she saw several faces at the windows. But the only one she cared about was Harley Quinn's. She peered down at Ivy from the second floor, looking quite miserable. The Joker had his arm around her shoulders and was pressing her tight against his side. He gave Ivy his best shit-eating grin and waved.  
  
"Cocksucker," she muttered.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Nothing, Doctor."  
  
As she got on the bus that would take her away from this place, she thought about how she and Harley now had something else in common - the things they loved hurt them the most.  
  
To be continued . . . 


	3. Chapter Three

Title: It's Just Allergies (3/??)  
Author: Allaine  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
Distribution: Probably at fanfiction.net and the  
factsofslash group. Anyone interested should just ask, and can expect a positive answer.  
Spoilers: Takes place after the New Batman/Superman Adventures, with one alteration - in my story, Ivy's skin never turned white like the Joker's. So she still looks like you and me.  
Feedback: Well, this fanfic is uncharted territory for me, so reader opinions may very well determine whether I finish it or not. So I would encourage it even more than usual.  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimers: All characters belong to . . . let's see, DC Comics, Kids WB and the Cartoon Network, the producers of the two Batman serials, the talented artists and voice actors, etc. I have borrowed them entirely without permission, for which I humbly beg forgiveness, but I seek no form of profit from this undertaking.  
Summary: When Poison Ivy finds her well-being threatened by the unlikeliest of sources, Harley Quinn proves that Ivy doesn't have to be alone anymore, ever again. My first Batman fanfiction.  
_____________________________________________  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Harley looked around. "First one here," she said quietly. Somehow being first to your group therapy session didn't have quite the same thrill as being first to own a particular CD.  
  
"And does Harley have an apple for teacher?"  
  
She nearly jumped out of her slippers. "Ack!" she yelped, turning around. "Professor Crane!"  
  
"Sorry, Harley. Didn't mean to, uh, frighten you." The Scarecrow chuckled and strode past her as if he were still a teacher taking his place at the lectern.  
  
"Yeah, sure," she muttered, but she didn't hold it against him. He wasn't too bad, as inmates at Arkham went. She sat across from him in her usual spot.  
  
"Another stab at this farce they call 'group therapy'," he sighed. The asylum held true to the notion that group sessions were beneficial, when in truth the last thing mental patients needed was an audience of twelve. But they'd decided that only certain inmates were eligible for these sessions. As in all other things, Clayface and Killer Croc, for example, were never to be put in a room together, or else together they could smash their way out of the building. Whereas people like Harley and the Scarecrow and the Riddler and the Mad Hatter were considered manageable without their trademark accessories, and therefore could avail themselves of group therapy.  
  
And Ivy, too. But she wouldn't be here that day. Or any other.  
  
Noting her lack of response to his comment, Crane quickly deduced the reason. "No Ivy to sit next to today?"  
  
"Nope," she said glumly. "Anybody know why they released her yet?"  
  
"The staff isn't saying. And frankly, if any of us would know, it would be you. She said nothing?"  
  
"She claimed she had nothing to do with it."  
  
"Very odd," he concluded. "We're not known for modesty here. If she says no, then she probably means it. Still, our merry class now dwindles to eleven, now that we've lost Ivy as well as the Ventriloquist."  
  
"He'll be back someday," she said. "Anybody who lets their own doll run their life like he's a marionette is permanently certifiable." But she wasn't so sure. His chair had sat empty for months now, and still no reports of him running afoul of the law.  
  
"Possibly," he admitted. "They say they're leaving his chair open as a reminder to us of his rehabilitation, but more likely they expect him back one day or another." As he glanced at the chair in question, however, the Scarecrow's eyes narrowed. "Would you mind not moving?" he asked, standing up.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
But he was already busy pointing to each chair in succession, starting with hers, and bobbing his head.  
  
"Skip your meds today?" she asked.  
  
"There were originally thirteen of us, and one psychiatrist, correct?"  
  
"I think so," Harley replied.  
  
"So there should be fourteen chairs, two of which will remain empty today," Professor Crane continued.  
  
"And?"  
  
"There are only thirteen chairs. One has been removed."  
  
Harley stared at him. He sat down. "Go ahead, count them yourself."  
  
Even as she did so, her mind was racing through the possibilities. She had a reputation for being a bubblehead, but it was something she had cultivated over time. Harley was very good at acting stupid, especially when her puddin' wanted someone to bask in his intellectual brilliance. But she _had_ been a psychiatrist at one time, and she probably could have passed even Professor Crane's course if their paths as "normal people" had ever crossed. So as she discovered there were only thirteen chairs, as he had said, she was already reaching a conclusion of her own. "Why would they leave the Ventriloquist's chair behind, but not Ivy's?"  
  
"Perhaps they really don't expect her to come back," the Scarecrow suggested.  
  
She'd thought of that, too. "Or maybe they'd just like us to forget all about her," she replied. Harley shivered. "Where is everybody, anyway?"  
  
"I think," Crane said dryly, "that your boyfriend's concept of arriving fashionably late has caught on. It's such an attention-getter."  
  
Some idiot had decided that the Joker should be included in these sessions as well, since he wasn't considered to be that dangerous without his guns and toxins. Just to be on the safe side, however, they put him in a straitjacket, leaving him to cut other inmates to pieces with his tongue. At least Harley would still have him to sit next to, and . . . "Damn," she muttered.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I have to sit next to Jervis now, don't I?"  
_____________________________________  
  
"So. Is there anybody here who would like to start things?" Dr. Brady asked hopefully. She was a petite young woman who looked like she was still in high school.  
  
Six hands immediately shot up.  
  
"Oh," the therapist said, growing uneasy. "Well then, how about . . . Edward?"  
  
The Riddler grinned at the others, whose hands slowly fell. "How did Poison Ivy get her release? Even I can't hazard a guess to this riddle."  
  
Dr. Brady looked like she had both expected and dreaded this question. "Well, you see, Edward, Dr. Park felt that she was no longer a threat to society," she finally explained.  
  
"Then why am I here?" he replied. "I'm not a threat to society. I'm just a threat to high society."  
  
"Funny, Eddie," the Joker muttered. "This is why I do the jokes and you do the riddles." He seemed to be in a bad mood today, Harley noticed.  
  
She raised her hand again.   
  
"Yes, Harley?" Dr. Brady asked, sighing.  
  
"How come," she said, glancing at the Scarecrow, "the Ventriloquist's chair is still here, but Ivy's isn't?"  
  
The young therapist blinked. "How come . . . oh yes, I see that. I hadn't noticed. Well, Harley, since we left his chair open as a reminder to everyone of his success, I'm sure they decided that it wasn't necessary to do it twice. That way, our circle becomes a little cozier," she added brightly.  
  
"Marvelous," Edward Nigma said. "Getting closer to people who don't wash as often as they should."  
  
"Why don't we all cut the crap?" the Joker growled.  
  
Everyone, especially Harley, stared at him. Such bluntness wasn't regular from him.  
  
"Poison Ivy," he declared, "is insane. Whether you're a doctor or a moron the street who reads the papers, you know she belongs here as much as anyone. So why is she out, and we're in?"  
  
He seemed to be striking a chord with the others. Curiosity about why she had left was replaced by anger that someone who was at least as crazy as they were was free while they were still inside.  
  
"Please," Dr. Brady said out loud, trying to calm them. "I only know what Dr. Park said, and he said he no longer considered her to be a threat."  
  
"What could possibly make Poison Ivy less dangerous?" Scarecrow asked. "I should think the word 'poison' would be a red flag to any man."  
  
"Maybe he fixed her up with another gullible doctor," Nigma chuckled.   
  
"Nah, then she'd be growing killer tomatoes," one of the plain old loonies suggested.  
  
Other than the therapist, who had rapidly lost control of the situation, Harley was the only one who wasn't laughing uproariously as other suggestions, some of them quite vulgar, were offered by one person after another.  
  
"No," Jervis Tetch managed to say through his chortling, "they gave her a one-of-a-kind nose job and made her allergic to pollen!"  
  
Harley sat up while everyone around her cackled. She stared at the Mad Hatter. Did he say allergic?  
  
"Good one, Jerv," the Joker screeched. He looked over at Harley. "This is funny, you bubbleheaded ditz. Laugh!" He tugged at his jacket, momentarily forgetting he had it on as he tried to strike her. Harley never even noticed, and finally he stood up and shoved her out of her chair with the sole of his foot. "Laugh!" the Joker repeated as she lay flat on her stomach.  
  
Harley could never make fun of Red behind her back, of course, but that wasn't why she refused to obey her puddin's orders. She didn't even hear him, nor did she hear Dr. Brady putting an end to this session by summoning the orderlies. She was putting things together.  
  
And if her half-formed theories were correct, then her Ivy was in a lot of trouble. She had to escape right away.  
_________________________________________________  
  
But escape was not in her cards that night. Two-Face had been on the run for weeks now, and the Batman had finally chased him down. He was bringing Harvey back that night, she learned, and it never paid to try to escape when the Bat was in the building. Better to wait until he was on the other side of Gotham.  
  
She exhaled loudly as she hung upside down from her cot that night. She'd just have to wait until tomorrow night.  
  
Then she heard the distinctive sound of footsteps, and the murmur of her fellow inmates. The Bat was coming down her corridor.  
  
Harley sat up, and fighting off a dizzy spell, she grabbed paper and a marker she had.  
  
As Batman passed her cell, he noticed the paper she was holding up to the window with the word "BATS" printed in big block letters. He considered the hopeful expression on her face for a moment before he shrugged a little and came closer. "Quinn."  
  
"Hey, Batsy. How's it shaking?" she said.  
  
He turned to leave.  
  
"Wait," she said hurriedly. "There's something I gotta ask you about. You heard about Ivy?"  
  
"What about Ivy?" he asked, half expecting a punchline.  
  
"She's not with us anymore," she answered solemnly.  
  
He stared at her. "She escaped? I would have been notified."  
  
"Do they notify you when they let people out?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Harley nodded. "The head doc here gave her her walking papers. She walked out the front door, got on the bus, and drove away."  
  
"That's crazy," he said. "_She's_ crazy."  
  
"Well, duh," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Which is why we're all wondering what happened. Red told me she had nothing to do with it."  
  
He thought for a moment. "Why are you coming to me with this, Quinn?"  
  
She blushed. "Well, seeing as how I'm stuck in here, I thought maybe you could check on her."  
  
"I'm not a messenger service."  
  
"No, I meant . . . I'm worried about my Red, Batsy. She gave away all her plants before she left, and she wasn't happy about leaving." Harley frowned. "She was crying a lot. I could tell."  
  
The Batman looked skeptical. But he did notice that Harley had referred to Ivy as "hers". If they were that close, then perhaps she knew something the doctors didn't.  
  
"I'll pay her a visit when I have the time," he told her. "Any ideas why she was unhappy?"  
  
Harley looked away. "This'll sound crazy, I know, but then the whole thing is crazy. Something's wrong with her and her plants. She seemed almost afraid of them. And now the doctors are all saying she's no longer a threat. Ivy is _so_ not herself, Batman."  
  
He nodded. "All right. I'll go see her."  
  
"Tonight?"  
  
"No, later. Is that all?"  
  
Feeling like he wasn't giving her concerns quite enough credence, she pouted. "Yeah, Bats. You can go." She walked away from the window.  
  
He shook his head. He wouldn't be leaving just yet. He'd need Ivy's new address.  
____________________________________________  
  
Ivy sat on her couch, staring into space, with absolutely no expression on her face. It was almost time.  
  
These last two, three days had been the absolute worst days of her life, she decided. And tonight was worst of all. Why?  
  
Because she recognized that tomorrow would be just as bad. And the day after that, and the day after that.  
  
Her apartment was nice enough, she supposed. It wasn't as nice as either of two hideouts in Gotham no one had found yet, but of course, she couldn't go inside either of them. She might not come out alive.  
  
Hoping against hope, Ivy had traveled to a nursery the day after she got out. Maybe it was temporary, or maybe it wouldn't work outside of Arkham, or maybe . . .  
  
She had dashed out of the nursery thirty seconds after she arrived. Her eyes had teared up so much that her vision was practically gone. That, combined with racking waves of nausea and a sudden inability to breathe, had very nearly killed her, she suspected. In her condition, she had almost run in the wrong direction, away from the exit and deeper into the growing trees, shrubs, and flowers. It had been a complete guess which way was out, and thankfully, the sound of an electric eye told her she had guessed correctly.  
  
Ivy couldn't be sure which was worse, nearly dying, or nearly dying from humiliation. How could this have happened to her? She'd been reduced to a sniveling, weak, sobbing nothing. A hundred defeats at Batman's hands were not as mortifying.  
  
In the meantime, she had begun her new job. With the enthusiasm of a zombie, she had delivered dead flowers to her employer's customers. Ivy had wanted to beat them black and blue. You weren't supposed to be happy when someone gave you flowers that had been killed in their prime; you were supposed to be sorry, or appalled, or angry. But then, other humans never seemed to care about the feelings of plants, did they?  
  
If anybody had recognized her, she would have started running, and she wouldn't have stopped until she got to the city limits.  
  
She supposed she was depressed. The situation called for getting drunk, she believed, but it struck her as too temporary a solution. Ivy had a better idea, and all it took was one stop at a hardware store on the way home.  
  
As she rose automatically from her seat and went over to where the chair had been placed, Ivy thought one last time about her beloved plants, who now betrayed her against their will. And Harley, who would never know how much she meant to Ivy. She liked being called Red.  
  
She put one foot on the chair.  
  
It was then that she heard the tapping. Ivy bared her teeth. Now what?  
  
She went into the bathroom, where she assumed a faucet was dripping. Instead she found Harley tapping at her window.  
  
Ivy stood and stared for a second, never having expected to see her there, or again. "Harley?" she asked, surprised.  
  
"Hey, Red," Harley said on the other side, and involuntarily Ivy smiled. "Think you could let me in?"  
  
"Oh, uh, sure, Harley," Ivy said, not thinking about what she was saying. She only knew that Harley was here to see her, and she couldn't just turn her away, could she?  
  
"Thanks," Harley told her as she climbed in, duffel bag in one hand. "Nice place."  
  
"You were in Arkham just a few days ago," Ivy said.  
  
"Just broke out tonight," Harley said proudly. "Needed to see you, so we could talk." She brushed past Ivy and headed toward the family room.  
  
Ivy suddenly realized what she had done. Harley was about to see . . . "Harley, wait!" she cried, chasing after her.  
  
She found her friend standing there, staring at the chair in the middle of the room. And the rope, knotted in a secure noose, hanging from the ceiling. Harley's bag fell from nerveless fingers.  
  
Harley finally turned around. "Red?" she whispered.  
  
Ivy looked down, ashamed.   
  
"Oh, my poor, poor Red," Harley repeated, a tear rolling down her cheek. She opened her arms.  
  
The red-haired woman hesitated but a moment before she ran into Harley's waiting embrace, crying for what had to have been the fifth or sixth time in the last week.   
  
"Shh," Harley soothed her, stroking her hair. "It's all right. Harley's here."  
  
To be continued . . . 


	4. Chapter Four

Title: It's Just Allergies (4/??)  
Author: Allaine  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
Distribution: Probably at fanfiction.net and the  
factsofslash group. Anyone interested should just ask, and can expect a positive answer.  
Spoilers: Takes place after the New Batman/Superman Adventures, with one alteration - in my story, Ivy's skin never turned white like the Joker's. So she still looks like you and me.  
Feedback: Well, this fanfic is uncharted territory for me, so reader opinions may very well determine whether I finish it or not. So I would encourage it even more than usual.  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimers: All characters belong to . . . let's see, DC Comics, Kids WB and the Cartoon Network, the producers of the two Batman serials, the talented artists and voice actors, etc. I have borrowed them entirely without permission, for which I humbly beg forgiveness, but I seek no form of profit from this undertaking.  
Summary: When Poison Ivy finds her well-being threatened by the unlikeliest of sources, Harley Quinn proves that Ivy doesn't have to be alone anymore, ever again. My first Batman fanfiction.  
_____________________________________________  
  
Chapter 4  
  
In the recesses of her mind, Ivy recognized that this was a sort of ironic role reversal for her. Usually it was Harley crying in her arms, when the Joker had thrown her out or beaten her or mistreated her in some fashion. Ivy supposed Harley had done the same in his arms, too. The very proud Poison Ivy of one week ago would never have permitted herself to go to pieces like this, certainly not in front of others.  
  
At this point in her life, however, her pride had taken enough damage lately that all she wanted now was for someone to comfort her. And since her plants certainly couldn't do that anymore, Harley would do quite nicely.  
  
Somehow Harley had maneuvered the two so that, instead of standing in the hallway, they were sitting on the couch. Well, Ivy wasn't exactly sitting; she was practically leaning on Harley. If Harley were to get up, Ivy would probably fall off.   
  
"Oh, Red," Harley said once more. "Why would you ever do something like that? It can't be that bad."  
  
"But it is!" Ivy told her vehemently, looking up, her cheeks streaked. "It's absolutely horrible. There's nothing to my life now; all I have to look forward to is more humiliation."  
  
Harley shook her head, running her fingers through Ivy's brilliantly colored hair. "What did those doctors do to you, Ivy?"  
  
"Call me Red, Harley. Or Pamela." She sniffled. "My name isn't Ivy any more. To call me Ivy is just a sick joke now. At least my hair is really red."  
  
"I'm not going to play the bubblehead bimbo tonight, _Red_," Harley said in a voice both stern and gentle. "You can't shake me off that easily."  
  
"I'm not really supposed to tell," Ivy (she couldn't help it; even now she was still Ivy in her own mind) informed her. Then she laughed bitterly. "But they couldn't really do anything worse to me, could they?"  
  
"You mean, make you more allergic?"  
  
Ivy stared at her. "You know?! Oh God, does everyone at Arkham know?"  
  
Harley shifted uncomfortably. In her current state, she didn't think Ivy needed to hear how they'd been making fun of her behind her back. "No, nobody knows. I just figured it out."  
  
"Nowhere as stupid as you make yourself out to be sometimes, huh?" Ivy replied wryly.  
  
"Hey!" Harley shot back, pretending to be insulted. "A little empty-headed, maybe. You don't think I overdo it, do you?"  
  
"Occasionally."  
  
Harley folded her arms and pouted. "Well, if you feel that way, maybe I'll just break back into Arkham then."  
  
Ivy was actually beginning to feel better. "No, don't you dare," she warned Harley, grabbing her hands. The contact warmed her. "You didn't really escape just for me, did you? The Joker's waiting for you somewhere, I bet."  
  
"Nope," Harley said solemnly. "Puddin's asleep in his cell. Well, probably not asleep, they're still sounding the alarm, I bet. I only made it off the asylum property about an hour ago. I was worried about you."  
  
"You didn't need to . . ."  
  
Harley put a finger on her lips. Then, blushing, she took it away again. But she looked very meaningfully at the noose that was still hanging from the ceiling. "Didn't I?"  
  
Ivy looked down again, ashamed.  
  
"How much longer before you were going to do it?"  
  
"I . . . I was getting on the chair when you knocked on my window," Ivy admitted.  
  
Harley's mouth fell open. She thought for a minute. "You notice how I'm not wearing my costume?"  
  
Ivy had noticed. She was still wearing what she'd worn when she escaped. "Yes, so?"  
  
"It's in the bag I brought. I stopped at one of our little hideaways before I came here to pick up some stuff. I almost put it on there, but I didn't want to wait. I'd already put my escape off one day."  
  
"What's your point?" Ivy asked, not understanding.  
  
"If I _had_ gotten changed first, and then got here five minutes later . . ." Harley's voice dropped to a whisper.  
  
Ivy trembled. "Then I'd be dead now, wouldn't I?"  
  
Harley suddenly imagined walking into Ivy's living room and seeing, not a rope and a chair, but Red's feet swaying left and right.   
  
Harley Quinn may have been brighter than she acted, but she was always honest with her emotions. So she burst into tears. "Red!" she cried, wrapping her arms around the other woman's neck like a pro wrestler putting on a headlock. "How could you even _think_ of something like this?"  
  
"Harley," she managed to say. "You're choking me."   
  
"Oh, sorry!" Harley blubbered, instantly letting go. "Guess that'd be kinda ironic, huh?"   
  
"I didn't really think anyone would care if I died," Ivy said quietly. "I thought, once you found out what happened to me, I couldn't be your partner anymore."  
  
"I still don't really understand what's wrong with you, Red," Harley replied, "but I'd want you with me on a job even if the only thing you could do was hit someone with pruning shears."  
  
Ivy smiled, just a little. "Well, I'll try to explain. Let me wash up first, okay?"  
  
"Good. While you're doing that, you won't care if I get rid of that?" Harley pointed up at the ceiling without looking at it.  
  
"Okay," Ivy agreed. For at least tonight, she was calling it off. She wasn't promising herself anything, though.  
  
While Ivy was in the bathroom, Harley got a knife from the kitchenette. While she stood on the chair and sawed at the rope, she continued to think about all the different ways it could have ended a lot worse. What if, for some reason, she'd been forced to wait another day? Or if she'd decided Ivy was all right after all? She saw herself watching TV at Arkham, Mr. J's arm around her shoulders, and seeing the announcement on the news that Poison Ivy, "convicted murderess with the deadly green thumb", had committed suicide. Even as she thought about it now, her hands shook and her chest hurt.  
  
Of course, Harley would have become hysterical, and eventually they'd have sedated her and put her in a padded cell. Puddin', meanwhile, would have just made some joke about hanging gardens or something.  
  
For a split second, as she imagined the Joker making light of the death of her best friend, her face darkened and her love for him was instantly transformed into hatred. It only lasted a second, but that didn't detract from the importance of it. She'd been angry, even enraged with the Joker in the past, but she'd never, ever stopped loving him. She'd never even dreamed she could stop loving him. Deep down inside, Harley recognized this meant something very momentous, but she didn't know what, and anyway, on a conscious level she didn't give it a second thought.  
  
Harley carried the noose back into the kitchen and threw it into the garbage can with a vengeance. Then she put the chair back against the wall before she unzipped her bag and started undressing.  
  
Ivy appeared just as Harley had stripped down to her bra and panties. She leaned against the wall and watched Harley as she bent over, revealing her full breasts, before casually pulling on her tight red-and-black outfit. She'd always appreciated that Harley was a very pretty young woman who had maintained her gymnast's body, but now she openly admired her friend's curves, her rear end, her . . .  
  
Whoa, where had _that_ come from? She shook her head and made some noise as she entered.  
  
"Hey!" Harley said brightly. "Better?" She had decided to leave her mask off.  
  
"A little. How did you escape, anyway?"  
  
Harley smiled cunningly. "They all said even I wasn't stupid enough to do it twice."  
  
"No!" Ivy gasped. "Not the laundry!"  
  
The other woman chortled. "Toldja I don't overdo the airhead routine. And this time, I knew how to open the machine from the inside."  
  
Sometimes even Ivy could fall for the innocent look in her eyes. Privately, she'd thought Harley a bit of a ninny for using the old laundry trick, but now she wondered just how sharp Harley really was. If she had everyone, even the Bat, convinced that she was a nitwit, then who was the smart one?  
  
Of course, being in a relationship with the Joker wasn't exactly smart, but you could chalk that up to the fact that Harley wasn't exactly of sound mind. "You've got them all fooled, don't you?"  
  
"So how about you?" Harley asked, sitting down again. "What's the deal with you being sick all the time?"  
  
So Ivy finally told her.  
  
By the time she finished, Harley had turned almost as red as her outfit. "I'll kill him," she growled. "I'm gonna get that rope back out of the garbage, I'll find out where he lives, and I'll beat him to death with it."  
  
"Harley . . ."  
  
"What's wrong? Vindictive is good. Vindictive is very, very good. Doctors aren't supposed to make perfectly happy crazy people into _suicidal_ crazy people." She smacked her fist into her palm. "How come you haven't gotten back at him? You never take these things lying down."  
  
"Because I don't want anyone to know about what's happened to me," Ivy answered. "If I went after him, then maybe it would get out that I have this terminal plant allergy. And then everyone in Gotham would know that Poison Ivy was nothing more than a helpless woman. I'd be the laughingstock of the criminal element. _That_ is the only way this could get any worse. I was even thinking about dyeing my hair black so no one would recognize me on my delivery runs."  
  
"Oh no, you can't do that," Harley instantly warned her. "You have the most beautiful hair, Red." She ran her fingers through it. "I hate my hair. I wish I had yours. Besides, then I couldn't call you Red anymore. I'd have to call you Black, and that sounds like a horrible nickname."  
  
Ivy closed her eyes and let her head drop forward, allowing Harley's fingers to caress her scalp. "Oh, that feels good. I haven't felt good since I left Arkham," she murmured. "I haven't felt like myself at all."  
  
"You look pretty good to me. Even if you're not in your usual outfit."  
  
"There's something to be said for midnight green," Ivy said absently. All she had on now were cotton drawstring pants and a T-shirt that fell below her waist. Falling forward, she rested her head on Harley's breast.  
  
Harley traced her finger along Ivy's jawline. "Yeah. I always thought you were the best-dressed out of all of us. I mean, Catwoman looked good and all, but she used to wear that horrible gray outfit, and now that black thing? It's like you're the only woman who isn't afraid to show a little skin. Of course, it's not like any guy would complain or anything."  
  
"Well, I wanted men to see what they were never going to get," Ivy said saucily. She raised herself on her left arm and turned sideways to face Harley, so that their faces were just a couple inches apart.  
  
"Um, yeah," Harley replied, a little hesitantly.  
  
Ivy's eyes never left hers, and they took on a look of determination. There was something else in her eyes which Harley either could not or would not decipher. "I saw you before when you were getting dressed. That's the closest I've ever seen you to being naked."  
  
Harley swallowed.  
  
"You have a much better body than I do. I'd swap my hair for your breasts any day."  
  
"Ivy?"  
  
"It's amazing how sexy you look putting your tights on, when you're not even trying to look sexy."  
  
"Red?"  
  
Harley couldn't go on, because Ivy's lips had slowly been approaching her own, and now they met.   
  
Ivy put her other hand on Harley's shoulder as she leaned into the kiss. She wasn't even thinking; she was doing. Harley's lips were very soft. She wondered if it was from wearing a mask all that time, or maybe it was because she didn't get to use them often. Joker didn't strike Ivy as a kissable person.  
  
As for Harley, the first few seconds her reaction was something along the lines of "Mmmph!" But then she relaxed a little, and she closed her eyes, and then she opened her mouth a little more to allow Ivy's gently probing tongue more access. Usually she had to practically maul Puddin' to get him to be a little more responsive, and now she enjoyed playing a more passive role. Maybe it sounded cliched, but Ivy tasted like a sweet nectar.   
  
Ivy . . . Ivy . . . shit, she was kissing Ivy! As in, Ivy, her best friend! As in, Ivy, not her boyfriend!  
  
"Whoa, whoa," she said breathlessly, putting her hands on Ivy's shoulders and pushing her away. Was she feeling _flushed_? "This is a mistake."  
  
The look on Ivy's face was a combination of naked desire and a desperate loneliness. "No, it isn't," she said.  
  
"Yes, it is!" Harley replied anxiously, squeezing out from under Ivy, whose breasts had been pushed tightly against hers. She got to her feet and looked down at her. "You're my best friend, and you're not feeling well, and you're sick, and it's made you act different. I can't do this. You're, you know, a girl! And I've never kissed a girl before."  
  
"So?" Ivy asked. "I've never kissed a boy or a girl before and meant it. Usually I did it because I wanted something from them, or I wanted them to do something for me. I kissed you because I thought I'd like it. And I did." She leaned back against the couch so that her breasts were quite visible through her shirt. "Didn't you?"  
  
"Yes - I mean no! Well, yes and no . . . oh, crap," Harley sighed, wringing her hands. "I already have a boyfriend, Red."  
  
"I don't give a shit about your boyfriend!" Ivy said ferociously. "He beats you, and he makes fun of you, and he doesn't know the first thing about you. I wouldn't care if he fell into a bottomless pit. No, I would care. It would make me very happy."  
  
"Now, you don't mean that - okay, maybe you do," Harley acknowledged. "But I can't . . . you said it yourself, you don't feel like you. This has something to do with that. Here, I know!" she babbled. "I'll be right back, I just have to go out and get you something."  
  
"Can't you stay?" Ivy asked pitifully.  
  
"I will, I promise, I just want to get something. I'll be right back, I swear. Don't do anything - well, you know," she said. Pulling her mask on, she blew Ivy a kiss. Then her eyes bulged, realizing what she'd done. Still red as a beet under her black-and-white face mask, she hurried back to the bathroom.  
  
Ivy listened to the window close behind her. Then she put her face in her hands. What had she been thinking? She'd never given Harley even the slightest inkling that she had sexual feelings for her. Hell, she'd never known herself! Maybe it was the operation; maybe she was different.  
  
What had come over her? She'd been depressed and lonely ever since she got out of Arkham, this was true. Had she kissed Harley because of that? Some people got drunk to forget, and some resorted to sex. Ivy had never been interested in sex; truth be told, she was still a virgin. The last time she'd been in a serious relationship was with Harvey Dent, and she'd told him she wanted to save herself for marriage. (Of course, there was also the little matter of her being involved with him just so she could get close to him and exact revenge.)  
  
So she'd never slept with a man, nor had she _thought_ about a woman that way. Harley was right, it had to be a side effect of her operation.  
  
But then . . . the kiss had been awfully nice, and she did think Harley was very beautiful. She'd never been in such close and intimate contact with Harley before, because she'd never allowed herself to. It wasn't just Ivy's lack of interest in sex; all her life Ivy had avoided personal relationships with people, because she preferred to be with her plants. She'd never had friends. And yet she'd allowed Harley to grow very close to her. It wasn't because she needed a partner. She used to always do jobs herself, and if she needed someone, she'd create one. In fact, there wasn't anything a human companion could give her that she couldn't get from her plants. So why had she taken so much pleasure from Harley's company, long before she was given allergies? Someone who, many people thought, was the last person they'd expect Ivy to hang out with?  
  
Because she understood Harley better than anyone else. Because she saw through the façade she put on for the Joker's pleasure, saw Harley had too much talent to be just a sidekick to a psychotic egomaniac. Because she liked her. No, because . . .  
  
Ivy put her hands over her mouth. "Oh God," she whispered. "I think I'm in love with her. _Now_ what am I supposed to do?"  
  
It was so _hot_ all of a sudden. She got up and went into the bedroom, where she took off her shirt. Now only wearing a gray sports bra above the waist, she then returned to the living room to think.  
  
"Ivy."  
  
"Batman," she tried to reply nonchalantly. Did she really need this?  
  
He was standing almost where she had put the chair earlier. He had entered without a sound, naturally. "So are you my parole officer?" she asked, sitting down and crossing her legs. What did she have to worry about from him? It wasn't like she had anything to hide.  
  
Except the bag containing Harley's things in the corner of the room. Her escape from Arkham was probably why he was here; Ivy's place would be one of the first places they'd look for Harley. She very studiously kept her eyes on the Batman and away from the corner.  
  
He didn't ask about Harley though, surprising her. He seemed more interested in her room. "This used to be the Ventriloquist's room, you know."  
  
She blinked. He wasn't making small talk, was he? "Really," she said neutrally. "How is the little man?"  
  
"Pretty good. He works for Wayne Enterprises in the mailroom. And he just got his own place."  
  
"Naturally you've kept an eye on him."  
  
"So long as you're out, I'll be keeping an eye on you too," he warned her.  
  
Ivy yawned. This was boring. "Is that all?"  
  
"Harley Quinn."  
  
"Finally," she thought. But she couldn't let on she knew; it probably hadn't made the news yet. "What about her?"  
  
He surprised her for the third time that night. "I had an interesting talk with her last night. She seemed to be worried about you."  
  
She closed her eyes and sighed. "Harl, you didn't," she thought.  
  
"So why did they let you out, Ivy? I checked your file. The doctors are very vague about your current diagnosis, but until recently, you weren't going anywhere for a long time."  
  
"Well, maybe you should encourage them to be a little less vague," she replied testily. "If you want to look around, you'll see I don't have any therapists locked away in a closet."  
  
"If you don't mind, I think I will take a look around."  
  
"If I did mind, would it matter?"  
  
"No."  
  
Ivy shrugged. "Go ahead. If I found out later you were going through my underwear, I'll make sure you never hear the end of it."  
  
Batman had no response. What a stick. Instead he headed for the bedroom.  
  
She waited all of eight seconds before she got up, quietly walked over, picked up Harley's bag, walked back, and shoved it under the couch. Then she coolly sat back down, all prim and proper (except for the fact that she wasn't wearing a whole lot.)  
  
Batman reappeared a few moments later. He stood in the doorway and took a long look. Ivy couldn't tell what he was thinking.  
  
Eventually he walked over to the middle of the room and raised his sights. There was the hook in the ceiling from which people could hang plants or similar things. There was the rope which Harley had merely cut, instead of bothering to untie it. There were still a few inches left.  
  
Ivy shrank back into her seat.  
  
He looked at the floor and noted the four circular depressions left behind in the carpet by the chair legs. It didn't take him long to spot the chair nearby.   
  
He was headed for the kitchen when Ivy jumped her to her feet. "Get out!" she shouted. "I don't want you here anymore!"  
  
When did the Bat ever listen? She was about to make a foolish attempt to physically restrain him when he opened the cabinet under the sink where the garbage can was. Then she froze.  
  
He looked down for a moment before slowly closing it once again. "Harley escaped from Arkham tonight, Ivy."  
  
"Did she?" she asked, her mouth dry. He didn't need to take the noose out and toss it onto the counter for her to know he'd seen it.  
  
"Twenty-four hours after she asked me to check on you, because she was afraid something was wrong," he went on.  
  
"Then obviously her escape has nothing to do with me. Otherwise she wouldn't have asked you," she suggested.  
  
"Maybe," he replied. "Do you know where she is now?"  
  
"I honestly have no idea where she is," Ivy said. And she didn't.  
  
He came closer. "So what employment did Arkham set you up with?"  
  
"Flower deliveries. I'm a part of the system now."  
  
The Batman nodded. "Apropos. I'll go now, but remember - the first time I find plant life at a crime scene, I'll assume it's you. Otherwise, it's your life."  
  
"Not anymore," she muttered. Having completely lost interest, she went back to the couch and flung herself onto her stomach.  
  
She didn't hear him leave, of course.   
  
"Hey! Watch it, tall, dark and depressing!"  
  
Ivy buried her face in the sofa cushions. In the space of an hour, Harley's timing had been both impeccable and awful.  
  
She rolled over onto her side as Batman stormed back in, dragging Harley by the wrist. She clutched something under her arm. "I thought you didn't know where she was."  
  
"I didn't. She didn't say," Ivy yawned.   
  
Harley's eyes glazed over while Ivy watched. In an instant, she had once more assumed the mantle of the dim bulb. She was a master clown, Ivy thought. No one took clowns seriously either, but who knew what kind of people lurked behind the makeup?   
  
"Whoopsie," Harley giggled.  
  
To be continued . . . 


	5. Chapter Five

Title: It's Just Allergies (5/??)  
Author: Allaine  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
Distribution: Probably at fanfiction.net and the factsofslash group. Anyone interested should just ask, and can expect a positive answer.  
Spoilers: Takes place after the New Batman/Superman Adventures, with one alteration - in my story, Ivy's skin never turned white like the Joker's. So she still looks like you and me.  
Pairing: Harley/Ivy  
Feedback: Well, this fanfic is uncharted territory for me, so reader opinions may very well determine whether I finish it or not. So I would encourage it even more than usual.  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimers: All characters belong to . . . let's see, DC Comics, Kids WB and the Cartoon Network, the producers of the two Batman serials, the talented artists and voice actors, etc. I have borrowed them entirely without permission, for which I humbly beg forgiveness, but I seek no form of profit from this undertaking.  
Summary: When Poison Ivy finds her well-being threatened by the unlikeliest of sources, Harley Quinn proves that Ivy doesn't have to be alone anymore, ever again. My first Batman fanfiction.  
_____________________________________________  
  
Chapter 5  
  
"And what's this?" Batman asked, wrenching the bundle out from under Harley's arm.  
  
He untied the string, and a pair of midnight green high boots and elbow-length gloves fell to the floor.   
  
"One of Ivy's outfits," Harley told him, sticking her tongue out. "She didn't have any, and she couldn't go to any of her hideouts to get one."  
  
"And why would that be?"  
  
Ivy glared at Harley, hoping she would realize that her condition was not a matter of public discussion.  
  
"Because it woulda violated the terms of her release," Harley replied blithely. "She said she didn't feel herself earlier. I thought it'd help if she had her own clothes."  
  
"Thought she'd 'feel like a human being again'?" Batman asked, repeating a remark she'd once made.  
  
"Mmm-hmm. Hey!"  
  
He straightened again, having put handcuffs on Harley's wrists.   
  
"Don't I merit a pair?" Ivy asked, snatching the gloves and boots from the floor.  
  
"Aiding and abetting doesn't make you crazy, it just makes you a criminal," he said. "And frankly, it's not worth bringing you all the way to the police after I bring Harley back to Arkham." He unceremoniously dropped her outfit on the floor. "Try not to commit any real crimes, Ivy."  
  
"Whooo!" Harley shrieked as he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She looked at Ivy, who was slipping her gloves on, and held her wrists up. "Bet you like seeing me like this," she added.  
  
"Harley!" Ivy gasped, turning red.  
  
Harley winked.  
  
Ivy stared.  
  
Then the prisoner stretched her arms out and began kicking her legs. "No! I wanna stay with Red! I-want-to-stay-with-Red!" she screamed in her most annoying, high-pitched squeal.  
  
The bathroom window had been a popular point of entry and exit that night, but Ivy still knew how to use a door. And she hit it running, slipping her pants off and bringing the rest of her outfit.  
  
It took Batman quite a while to make it back to the Batmobile, considering Harley had been as difficult as a sack full of cats. She sounded like one, too.   
  
"Leaving so soon?"  
  
He stopped, astonished. Ivy was sitting on the hood of his car, legs crossed, leaning back on her hands. She'd used her sultriest tone of voice when she spoke.   
  
"I don't care how inconvenient it is for you," she went on, growing colder. "I broke the law, so if Harley goes, I go."  
  
"Fine," he growled as he stalked past her.   
  
Ivy had been posing for Harley, not for Batman. She was still trying to gauge the meaning of Harley's handcuff remark. Did it mean Harley had forgiven her abortive attempt at seduction, and could even joke about it? Or was it something more?  
  
She leaned back further and fluttered her eyelashes at Harley.  
  
The other woman just stared at her and said nothing.  
  
"Well, that was unhelpful," Ivy thought.  
_________________________________________________  
  
"Now this is more like it," she thought a few minutes later. Batman had cuffed her wrists as well and had put them both in the front seat. The seats were wide, but the two ladies were pressed tightly together, shoulder to shoulder. The straps of the seat belt across their bodies held them even closer. Occasionally one or the other would move her body in an attempt to get more comfortable, and Ivy thought the feeling of friction between the two was quite pleasurable.  
  
She had to know if there was any emotional friction, however. Ivy realized that there was something a human companion could give her that her plants couldn't, after all. They could love her back, and not just because Ivy desired it - because they, or in this case, _she_ desired it.  
  
So she moved her hands over and placed them on Harley's knee.  
  
"Stop," Harley whispered, but was there a hint of something else there?  
  
She trailed her fingers up Harley's thigh a little, while her own thigh rubbed against Harley a little. Just a little.  
  
"No, don't," Harley pleaded. Ivy saw the look in her eyes, however; she was trying _very_ hard to resist.  
  
Ivy nestled her head between Harley's shoulder and chin and snuggled a little tighter. Again, just a little.   
  
"Rrred." Harley's breathing was ragged. She looked down at Ivy.  
  
She hoped it was fondness and love that Harley saw in her eyes, not just sexual desire. Now that she was aware of these feelings that had been (no pun intended) blooming inside of her, every minute she spent in close contact with her seemed to intensify them further.  
  
Harley held her breath for a moment. Then she closed her eyes and let their foreheads touch. "I don't know what to say," she said very, very quietly. "I'm not supposed to have feelings for someone else."  
  
Ivy almost grinned broadly, but again, she didn't want Harley to see her as anything like the Joker. She wanted Harley to feel like she could do better. So her lips remained sealed, but she smiled warmly nonetheless. "But you think you do?"  
  
Harley sighed. Her chained hands found Ivy's and gripped them. "Yeah."  
  
Maybe she could be happy without plants after all. Christ, wasn't _that_ a revolutionary concept?  
  
The Bat cleared his throat as he drove. "What are you two whispering about?" he questioned them.  
  
Harley and Ivy looked up at him. Ivy was just contemplating a particularly naughty reply when Harley spoke first. "I think he oughta know, Red."  
  
She blinked. "Really?"  
  
"Maybe he can help fix what they did to you," she replied.  
  
Ivy drew back. This was not what she thought Harley meant. "Absolutely not," she hissed. She would have folded her arms if she could, but she did pull away from Harley.  
  
Harley looked regretful, but she was also serious. "You can't go on like this forever, Ivy."  
  
"Like what?" Batman asked, curious.  
  
"Nothing," Ivy grumbled.  
  
"You certainly can't fix it yourself, Red," Harley pointed out, "and no hospital's going to help Poison Ivy. Batsy here is supposed to know about stuff like this. Where else would he get all those things he puts in his belt?"  
  
Batman looked perplexed, but Ivy was becoming totally mulish about him knowing.  
  
Harley faced out the window so they couldn't see the crafty look on her face. "Or," she said, once more the annoying dumb blonde, "I could ask Puddin' for you. My Mr. J always did have a knack for chemistry, so . . ."  
  
"I will _not_ be beholden to the man who treats you like dirt," Ivy informed her strenuously. "I would rather get help from the arrogant _rodent_ sitting next to me than have your sick, abusive boyfriend stick needles in me!"  
  
Ivy was suddenly thrown forward against her seat belt as Batman stomped on the brakes, bringing the car to a halt. "Listen," he warned them, jabbing his finger at them. "I don't know what game you two are playing . . ."  
  
But they weren't paying attention right now. "If you'd rather ask the Bat for help, then why don't you?" Harley asked innocently.  
  
Ivy deflated. It seemed like more and more she had a button labeled "Joker" on her back, and Harley knew just how to push it. Feeling cornered, she sighed. "All right, you win."  
  
"I had to sooner or later tonight."  
  
They both smiled knowingly.  
  
"Ivy," Batman repeated. The two women together were experts at trying his patience, even when he had them in custody.  
  
"I'll tell you everything," she answered, resigned. "Just keep driving."  
  
Shaking his head a little, he faced forward again and put his foot on the gas. "All right, spill."  
  
"The doctors at Arkham made me allergic to plants."  
  
SCREEECH!!!  
  
"That's it," he said. "I've had just about enough of you two!"  
  
"But it's true!" Harley whined. "Ivy says they did some kind of experiments on her in the middle of the night, and now whenever she touches or smells a plant, she gets sick."  
  
"How sick?"  
  
Ivy looked down. "Dr. Park said prolonged exposure could be lethal."  
  
He stared at her. "That is one of the most bizarre things I have ever heard."  
  
"Even more bizarre than my being released from Arkham as 'fully rehabilitated'?"  
  
Batman paused. "Prove it."  
  
She glanced at Harley. "A flower shop?" Harley suggested.  
  
"There might not be any open at this hour," Ivy replied. "And anyway, we need living plants. Take me to the nearest public park," she decided.  
  
"I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered.  
  
Five minutes later they had arrived. "I'm coming with you," he reminded her. "But you are staying here," he said to Harley.  
  
"No problem," she said cheerfully. "I'll just be out of these cuffs in a jiff."  
  
"Okay, so what now?" he asked Ivy as they stood in the middle of an open space. The grass, which hadn't been cut in a few days, crackled under their feet. "Are you going to hug a tree?"  
  
"Well, a bush would be simpler," she responded. "Or . . ." She looked at her feet. "I wonder if grass would have an effect on me."   
  
As she clumsily sat down on the grass, unable to use her hands to brace herself, she felt chilled. Whether that was because of the night air, or because she was nervous about what might happen to her, or because her body was already reacting to the nature surrounding them, she didn't know. She looked up at Harley, who smiled reassuringly. Apparently the Bat had had Harley escape her chains one time too many.  
  
Sighing, she lay back on the grass. Thousands of blades felt good against her bare neck, shoulders, and upper back. Rolling over, she inclined her head slightly and breathed deeply. The grass smelled crisp.  
  
Then she sat up again.  
  
"Well?" Batman asked while Harley waited anxiously.  
  
"Maybe hugging a tree would be - " Ivy began, but then she was flung back against the ground as a brutal seizure ripped through her body.  
  
Harley and the Batman froze for a moment as she started flopping on the ground. Then Harley shrieked. "RED!!!" She reached down to pick her up.  
  
"Don't touch her!" Batman stopped her.  
  
"It's the grass that's causing it, bat-brain!" she screamed. "We've got to get her off!"  
  
He thought it over for a second before he gingerly put his arms underneath Ivy and lifted her, cradling her against his chest. He felt his tremors through his whole body. Carefully he tried to keep her head in place so she wouldn't injure her neck.  
  
When Ivy was able to control herself and speak again, she found herself stretched out on a blanket Batman had retrieved from his trunk. "What just happened?" she asked weakly.  
  
"Ivy," Harley said, relieved, her eyes brimming.  
  
"You were suffering from a massive seizure," the Batman explained as he crouched near her. "It seems to have subsided now that you're away from . . . the grass."  
  
"Maybe I shouldn't have brought your outfit," Harley added, looking guilty.  
  
"Why?"  
  
The Batman shook his head in consternation. "You've broken out in a severe rash. Your upper back, the nape of your neck, your shoulders, the back of your thighs - everywhere your bare skin touched the grass, there's a great deal of redness, and . . ."  
  
"It looks like you were attacked by every mosquito in Gotham," Harley finished for him.  
  
"Not exactly scientific, but yes."  
  
"But I don't - oooh," Ivy winced as she turned her head. Her neck felt very sore.   
  
"I wouldn't try to sit up," he cautioned her. "It's too soon."  
  
"_Now_ do you believe us?" Harley and Ivy said in unison. They blinked.  
  
"Almost," he admitted. "I've made a change in our destination. We're not going to Arkham yet."  
  
"But the doctor who did this to me is there," Ivy reminded him.  
  
He nodded. "But I want to know what exactly _this_ is. I've never seen a condition like this. I want to have tests run."  
  
She groaned. "Fine, if Harley stays with me. Where are we going, a hospital?"  
  
"Sort of," he replied. "I have a friend."  
___________________________________________________  
  
"What happened to her?" Dr. Leslie Thompson asked. "It looked like she was attacked by an angry swarm of . . ."  
  
"Already heard that one," Harley interrupted her.  
  
Leslie looked at her. "And this one?"  
  
"Friend of the patient," Batman told her. "Ivy wouldn't come unless I brought her too."  
  
Harley smiled emptily at Leslie, and she sighed.  
  
"So what does Miss Isley say the problem is?"  
  
"Allegedly," Batman explained, "the head doctor at Arkham sedated Ivy one night, had her transported somewhere, and conducted experiments on her which altered her genetic makeup and rendered her severely, even fatally, allergic to all living plant life. She can't touch it or smell it."  
  
"That doesn't sound like the doctors at Arkham," Leslie replied. "To be honest, it doesn't sound like any doctor I know. Actually, it sounds like science fiction, or a Nazi prison camp."  
  
"There's a lot about Poison Ivy that resembles science fiction," he said, "and yet it's not."  
  
"Even so," she responded, "that kind of genetic tampering is highly unusual. Granted, it has happened here in Gotham before. Clayface, for example, or the Man-Bat." She tucked her hands in her pockets and shrugged. "Well, I can certainly run some tests. It doesn't matter how fantastical it sounds. If the diagnosis is Poison Ivy is allergic to plants, then something has obviously been done to her, and since I can't fathom her doing it to herself - "  
  
"Well, duh," Harley said.  
  
Leslie turned away from her. "We would then need to determine how it was done, and if there's a way of reversing it. Do we want to reverse it?" she asked Batman.  
  
"Of course we do!" Harley said, shocked. "Don't we?"  
  
"Leslie . . ."  
  
"Just let me play devil's advocate for fifteen seconds, Batman. Without access to plants, Poison Ivy is no longer a menace to society. Do you want to risk the safety of other Gothamites by doing this, Batman? It would be like giving a pyromaniac his matches back."  
  
"You - " Harley began, but Batman put his gloved hand over her mouth.  
  
"I thought about it. Briefly. But it's wrong, Leslie. I saw what can happen just from a few moments' contact with something as simple as green grass. It's way beyond her control; I can envision a dozen different ways where this kind of condition could kill her, if she finds herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Besides, it presumes that her mental problems are incurable, and that the only way she can change is if her choice is taken away from her. Why bother putting them in Arkham then? Why not just keep them in solitary at Stonegate? If we find a solution, we use it." He took his hand away from Harley's mouth finally. She glared at him.  
  
"Good," Leslie answered. "Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to be difficult later on." She smiled at him.  
  
"You mean he isn't being difficult _now_?" Harley asked incredulously.  
  
Leslie rolled her eyes. "Why don't you go visit your friend?"  
  
"Oooh, okay." She happily skipped into the room in which Ivy was waiting, none too comfortably, and closed the door again.   
  
"How often do you let a prisoner dictate to you?" Leslie asked.  
  
"Ivy's not really my prisoner," Batman replied. "She was just being difficult. Actually, she was released from Arkham a few days ago. They claim she's been rehabilitated, but they're not giving details."  
  
This appeared to surprise her most of all. "My my," she murmured. "It does all sound very strange and suspicious, doesn't it?"  
  
"How do you feel?" Harley was asking meanwhile.  
  
"Very sore," Ivy replied. "I itch all over, and my neck is stiff from the seizures." She pouted. "I hate feeling like shit all the time."  
  
Harley sat next to her on the examining chair. "So do you want to talk about . . . you know, the other thing?" She started scratching Ivy's back, which was very red and angry-looking, not creamy like it was supposed to be.  
  
"He might be listening," Ivy said quietly. "I want us to have total privacy when we talk. Ooh, a little lower, please."  
  
She got behind Ivy and moved her right hand lower. She also braced herself by resting her left hand on Ivy's side.   
  
"Ahhh," Ivy hummed, squeezing Harley's left hand with her own.  
  
"That's probably not a good idea," Leslie suggested as she entered. "It'll make them worse in the long run." Batman came in behind her.  
  
Reluctantly Harley stopped scratching, but she kept her left hand where it was. Her right hand fell still lower and began massaging the small of Ivy's back.  
  
"I'm going to be conducting some tests in order to isolate the cause of your illness, Miss Isley," Leslie told her.  
  
"Don't call me that, please. Call me . . ."  
  
"Call you what?"  
  
She looked over her shoulder at Harley. "Call me Ivy."  
  
"Well, Ivy, I'll need to do a thorough physical examination, so you'll have to put this on." She held up one of those flimsy hospital gowns.  
  
The women eyed it distastefully. Ivy supposed she should be giving this woman a hard time, but frankly, she didn't have the energy. "Fine," she grumbled, taking it.  
  
"Hey, how come she's the only one who gets to play dress-up?" Harley complained.  
  
"Trust me, Harl," Ivy told her as she pulled off her boots and began removing her one-piece, all right in front of everyone. "It's not much fun."  
  
"Uh," Batman said, turning red.  
  
Harley caught his expression out of the corner of one eye. "Well, I'm doing it too," she said childishly. And she started to strip.  
  
Batman swiveled around so he had his back to them. "I'll just be outside for a minute then," he said, coughing a little.  
  
"You do that, Batman," Ivy told him slyly.  
  
He paused as he opened the door, however. "Speaking of clothes, Quinn, whatever happened to that pink dress of yours? The one that started all the trouble the last time you were released?"  
  
"Oh," she said as she pulled her costume off her feet, "Mr. J said it made me look fat, and he tore it in half." She sounded regretful.  
  
"I saw you in that dress the day after they brought you in!" Ivy recalled, shocked. "It didn't make you look fat. You managed to turn on half the inmates that day!"  
  
"I guess her 'Puddin' was jealous," Batman muttered as he went out.  
  
Harley blinked. "No, he wouldn't have done that. He knew how much I liked it, he was just trying to warn me that I didn't look . . ." She looked down and sighed as she put her gown on.  
  
Ivy reached over and squeezed her knee.  
  
"Whew," Batman said, wiping his brow as he leaned against the door. "That was - "  
  
"That was what?"  
  
He stiffened. "Robin."  
  
"You look like you just saw your worst nightmare," the second Robin said. "Is it bad?"  
  
"Worse. Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy are getting undressed in there."  
  
Robin stared at him, unable to comprehend. "Boy, are you repressed. I gotta see this."  
  
Batman slammed his palm against the door. "When you're older."  
  
"Dang!"  
  
To be continued . . . 


	6. Chapter Six

Title: It's Just Allergies (6/??)  
Author: Allaine  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
Distribution: Probably at fanfiction.net and the factsofslash group. Anyone interested should just ask, and can expect a positive answer.  
Spoilers: Takes place after the New Batman/Superman Adventures, with one alteration - in my story, Ivy's skin never turned white like the Joker's. So she still looks like you and me.  
Feedback: Well, this fanfic is uncharted territory for me, so reader opinions may very well determine whether I finish it or not. So I would encourage it even more than usual.  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimers: All characters belong to . . . let's see, DC Comics, Kids WB and the Cartoon Network, the producers of the two Batman serials, the talented artists and voice actors, etc. I have borrowed them entirely without permission, for which I humbly beg forgiveness, but I seek no form of profit from this undertaking.  
Summary: When Poison Ivy finds her well-being threatened by the unlikeliest of sources, Harley Quinn proves that Ivy doesn't have to be alone anymore, ever again. My first Batman fanfiction.  
_____________________________________________  
  
Chapter 6  
  
Batman opened the door enough to let him see if they were finished getting dressed. He found Ivy sitting on the examining table, wearing nothing but her flimsy gown. She was sitting with her legs neatly crossed and was leaning on her left hand while Leslie drew blood from her right forearm.   
  
Seeing him, Ivy casually uncrossed her legs. "Yes?" she asked, her eyes half-open, almost purring.  
  
Reflexively he swallowed. "Never mind," he muttered as his head disappeared.  
  
Robin got a good look for a second or two before Batman grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out.  
  
Ivy shook her head. "Puberty is a cruel master."  
  
"Leave the boy alone," Leslie chided him. "He's young."  
  
"Actually, I was talking about Batman. It's like he's never seen my legs before. Is he like that when Catwoman flirts with him, I wonder?"  
  
Harley just laughed as she sat in a chair in the corner of the room.  
  
"All right now," Leslie told her, putting the blood sample aside. "Lie on your stomach and I'll untie your gown. I want to see your back again."  
  
Ivy sighed and lay down. She turned her head so she was facing Harley.  
  
Leslie untied the knots and allowed the gown to fall to either side. "This is one of the worst skin conditions I've ever seen. How long has it been like this?"  
  
"About half an hour," Ivy replied. She pushed herself up slightly with her right hand so that Harley could get a better look at her, now that she was practically naked. Harley blushed and looked down - but not so much that she couldn't still see her.  
  
The doctor's hands, which had been gently pressing against her rash, paused. "That's not possible. Human skin isn't supposed to do that, not unless it's been exposed to extremely high doses of radiation, or something akin to it."  
  
"Ask the Bat," Ivy said. "He was there. Anyway, the doctor told me he'd manipulated my genes somehow. So I'm not really surprised any more when these things happen."  
  
"And what other symptoms have you suffered from?" Leslie asked.  
  
Ivy thought about it. "Sneezing, coughing, dizziness, fainting, vomiting, paralysis, and being unable to breathe." She didn't bother to list the psychological ones.  
  
"This is more than just allergies," Leslie said as Harley shook her head sorrowfully. "It's not just your immune system overreacting to exposure to plants."  
  
"Oh," Ivy added, as if she'd just remembered. "And loss of sexual function."  
  
"WHAT?!" Harley shrieked.  
  
"Just kidding," Ivy answered. Feeling naughty, she leaned on her left elbow and, resting her head on her left hand, offered Harley a free and clear look at her bosom. And she winked.  
  
"Eep!" Blushing furiously, Harley clapped her hands over her eyes.  
  
Leslie considered the two for a moment. "Come on, Ivy, no horsing around. Lie back down, this isn't a slumber party."  
  
Ivy instantly complied, worried that she'd pushed Harley just a bit too far. But as she lay her head on her folded arms, she noticed that two of Harley's fingers weren't pressed together, and she could see one of the blonde's eyes peeking through.  
  
She was feeling much better now.  
___________________________________________________  
  
"I have no idea what to expect, Batman," Leslie told him as she worked in the lab. She didn't call him Bruce because there was no telling if one of the girls might have decided to listen at the door, even though Robin was in the hallway outside their room. She'd left Harley with Ivy. "Is it an allergy? An immune system disorder, or a problem with her red blood cells? I've never seen this before. The human body is not supposed to behave this way."  
  
Batman nodded but said nothing.  
  
"So what's the matter with you, anyway?" she asked as she peered into her microscope.  
  
"Beg pardon?"  
  
"You were acting like you'd never seen a woman before," she reminded him. "I've heard all about you and Selina Kyle too, you know. If you were like that with her too, then no wonder she flirted with you. It must have seemed funny."  
  
"It's not like that," he replied. "Ivy is overdoing the sexpot routine, and I can't shake the feeling that it's not entirely because of me."  
  
"So speaketh God's gift to women," Leslie said dryly.  
  
"You know what I mean."  
  
"I was kidding. And you're right. Ivy was behaving in an almost salacious manner while I was examining her, and there was only the three of us in the room." She remembered how Ivy had practically flashed her friend.  
  
He scratched his chin. "Quinn is acting strangely too. She's acting a lot more stupid than usual. I know she's smarter than that."  
  
"She's in love with a homicidal maniac, Batman. How smart is that?"  
  
"Harvey lets a coin run his life, and the Riddler gives hints about where he'll strike next. But neither of them is stupid, nor is Harley. It's because they're crazy."  
  
"For a crazy person, Harley Quinn seems remarkably concerned for her friend's welfare," Leslie pointed out.  
  
He shrugged. "That's a friendship I've never comprehended. That Quinn would spend time with anyone other than the Joker, or that Ivy would spent time with _anyone_, let alone someone with Harley's personality . . ."  
  
She glanced up at him. "Suggests that maybe neither woman is as crazy as you think."  
  
He almost brought up his suspicions about Ivy's thoughts of suicide, but he didn't feel quite right sharing them with others. "How long will the tests take?"  
  
"The DNA test is the most important one," she answered, "and that will be a day or two. The rest of the results will take a few more hours."  
  
"I'll be back," he decided. "I have an idea."  
  
After he left, Leslie spent a few more seconds pondering Ivy's behavior toward Batman earlier. Since she'd been the same way with him out of the room, that suggested he was right and it wasn't for his benefit. So who else was it for? Able to come up with only one answer, she shelved it away for future consideration and returned to her testing.  
___________________________________________________________  
  
"Does it feel better now?" Harley asked.  
  
"A little," Ivy responded. Dr. Thompson had put some cream on her rashes, and the itching and soreness had started to ease. Or perhaps the effects of being in contact with the grass were wearing off again, the way the rash around her wrist had disappeared a few days before.  
  
"I'm scared," Harley added. She was sitting on the floor with her back against the table legs. Ivy's arm was hanging down above her, and Harley was holding her hand in both of hers. "What if they don't know what's wrong with you? What if you're like this forever?"  
  
She didn't like to consider the possibility, even now, but the prospect was no longer quite so grim. "I'll have to deal with it. But the future doesn't seem so bad anymore." She squeezed Harley's hands.  
  
The other woman got on her knees and turned to look up at Ivy, clutching her hand. "That scares me even more, Red."  
  
Ivy could interpret that statement several ways. "What do you mean?"  
  
Harley looked very anxious. "Red," she whispered, "I know you're worried about them listening in, but I gotta talk about this now. I'm afraid you're going to die because of me."  
  
Ivy stared at her. "That's silly, Harley. How on earth could you . . ."  
  
"You were going to kill yourself, Red," Harley reminded her. "_Kill_ yourself."  
  
"But I didn't," Ivy replied, although her chest constricted when she remembered how she felt when she was putting that first foot on the chair. "You stopped me."  
  
"Exactly!" Harley said, panicking. "I'm so frightened, Red! What if you have this disease for the rest of your life, and it turns out I can't give you what you need, and you kill yourself later? Ivy, I won't be able to live with myself!"  
  
Ivy got up off the table and, ignoring her body's complaints and the cold floor, sat down next to her. "Please, Harley, don't worry about that. As long as you're with me, you'll be giving me exactly what I need, what I want, what I desire."  
  
Harley was uneasy, however. "Red, what exactly do you feel for me? Is this just you being lonely, and needing someone to be with you while you can't be with your plants? Or is it more?"  
  
"I thought about it," Ivy admitted. "And it's more, Harley. I think it started long before. Harley, I - I think I'm in love with you."  
  
The other woman hung her head. "Red, I don't feel the same way."  
  
Ivy felt her heart cracking. "Oh," she said quietly. "I just thought from what you said in the car . . ."  
  
"I don't know what I feel," Harley pleaded. "I thought I was in love with Mr. J, and we'd be together forever. But all of a sudden, you're creating these sensations inside of me, and when I look at you, I feel different. When you were rubbing my thigh in the car, or when you were flashing your breasts a little while ago . . ." Harley's voice was so low that Ivy could barely hear her. "I wanted you."  
  
"And you're confused, aren't you," Ivy realized.  
  
Harley nodded miserably. "I don't know what to do, Red. This was never supposed to be like this. Puddin' was my lover, and you were my friend, and that was that. Now I don't know . . . as long as you need me, as long as you're sick, I'll stay by you, okay? I won't leave you alone, because I don't want you to go back to whatever place you were in when you wanted to take your own life."  
  
Ivy looked down, and she felt the tears spilling from her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. What more could she ask for, really?  
  
"Oh, Red, please, don't cry," Harley said, shaking her head. She took Ivy in her arms and, mindful of her back problems, held her as tightly as she could.  
  
But Ivy took her by the arms and pulled back a little. "Kiss me."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Just one more time," she begged. Poison Ivy begging? Absolutely. "Maybe it will help you decide if that's what you want or not. Maybe if you act on those feelings of yours a little, you can decide better."  
  
Harley looked into eyes that she'd always found so entrancing, and she nodded. "All right."  
  
Slipping her arms around Harley's sides, she moved closer and kissed her. It was instinctively gentle and tender, softly caressing Harley's lips.  
  
Sighing slightly, Harley closed her eyes and responded to Ivy's gentle seduction. She felt her hand move up to caress Ivy's cheek, and her nerves tingled. She didn't think about it; she just allowed her body to take over. Opening her mouth slightly, she quickly flicked her tongue forward, giving Ivy a little taste of what lay inside.  
  
Ivy was instantly enthralled by the taste of Harley on her lips. Sensing Harley returning the kiss and gradually opening her mouth wider and wider, she tentatively pushed forward with her tongue, and when Harley moaned, she became more assertive and sought more and more of what she'd tasted. Passionately she drank from Harley. It was innocent and intoxicating, and something inside her told her that no one before her had really appreciated how sweet she was.  
  
Harley's other hand began to run Ivy's hair through her fingers. She leaned in even closer and felt their breasts push against each other. Their nipples brushed through the flimsy fabric of the gowns, and part of Harley was surprised to discover how taut Ivy's were, how her own were. An electric shock radiated through her own body.  
  
It was enough to break the kiss. Both women breathed heavily. Then Ivy looked at her hopefully, almost pathetically. "Well?"  
  
"That was . . . wow. That was amazing," Harley admitted.  
  
Like her shooting star vine blossoming brilliantly with the setting of the sun, Harley watched as her smile lit Ivy's entire face up. "Really? You're not just saying that?"  
  
"I could definitely tease you, but I couldn't lie to you," Harley told her.  
  
Suddenly exhausted, Ivy collapsed into her arms.   
  
Harley looked at her and rubbed her head tenderly. "Oh, Red. You definitely know how to turn a girl's world completely upside-down," she whispered.  
  
"Huh?" Ivy mumbled.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
Neither woman noticed the door was slightly ajar. Nor did they notice it quietly close.  
  
Robin leaned against the door, his heart pounding. "That _was_ amazing," he said to himself. "But what do I tell Batman?"  
  
To be continued . . . 


	7. Chapter Seven

Title: It's Just Allergies (7/??)  
Author: Allaine  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
Distribution: Probably at fanfiction.net and the factsofslash group. Anyone interested should just ask, and can expect a positive answer.  
Spoilers: Takes place after the New Batman/Superman Adventures, with one alteration - in my story, Ivy's skin never turned white like the Joker's. So she still looks like you and me.  
Feedback: Well, this fanfic is uncharted territory for me, so reader opinions may very well determine whether I finish it or not. So I would encourage it even more than usual.  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimers: All characters belong to . . . let's see, DC Comics, Kids WB and the Cartoon Network, the producers of the two Batman serials, the talented artists and voice actors, etc. I have borrowed them entirely without permission, for which I humbly beg forgiveness, but I seek no form of profit from this undertaking.  
Summary: When Poison Ivy finds her well-being threatened by the unlikeliest of sources, Harley Quinn proves that Ivy doesn't have to be alone anymore, ever again. My first Batman fanfiction.  
_____________________________________________   
  
Chapter 7  
  
Robin perched on a stool near the computer where Leslie was currently working. "Any progress?"  
  
"Very little," she sighed, looking away from the monitor. "Are you all right?" she asked. "You look dazed."  
  
His mouth twitched. "Well . . . I don't suppose Batman is still here?"  
  
"No, he said he had a few things to do."  
  
"Good," he replied, smoothing his hair back nervously. "I'm not really sure what to say to him."  
  
She swiveled her chair around so that her back was to the computer. "What's wrong, Robin?"  
  
"He told me to keep an eye on Ivy and Harley, so I was," he said a trifle defensively.  
  
"Oh, dear," she responded. "You weren't _peeping_, were you?"  
  
"No! I mean, that wasn't the idea, anyway."  
  
Leslie chuckled wryly. "You're getting to be that age, aren't you? That age when you realize the costumes and disguises these women wear reveal as much as they conceal?"  
  
He turned about as red as his outfit. "Uh, Doctor . . ."  
  
"That's right, I'm a doctor," she agreed. "Which means you can tell me anything, and I won't tell Bruce if you don't want me to. We'll call it doctor-patient privilege."  
  
Robin shifted uneasily. "They got real quiet in their room, so I was just peeking through the door to see if they had escaped or something. Honest."  
  
"It's all right, Robin, you don't have to defend yourself to me. I'm not him, you know."  
  
"Yeah, well, what I saw . . ."  
  
"She wasn't naked, was she?"  
  
"Uh-uh, no way," he answered immediately. "I'm a teenager, not a pervert. Both of them had those paper gowns you hand out."  
  
She nodded thoughtfully, wondering where this was going. "And?"  
  
"They were sitting on the floor, and they were kissing. Not like best friend kiss or sister kiss, either. Like, 'you may now kiss the bride' kissing." He hopped off his seat and took a step back, as if afraid she would give him a spanking.  
  
Leslie leaned back in her chair, her chin sinking downward. "Interesting," she said.  
  
Robin blinked. "That's your reaction?"  
  
"I thought they seemed strange together earlier," she recalled. "But it never crossed my mind that the two were romantically involved."  
  
"Yeah, but if everyone in Gotham knows Ivy's got a thing for plants, then they also know Harley's got a thing for the Joker."  
  
"Yes, well, tonight's events have been flying in the face of common knowledge, haven't they? How long were you watching?"  
  
He looked down a little. "Only maybe . . . thirty seconds? Forty-five? They pressed real close together, then they broke off the kiss, and then I quietly closed the door again."  
  
"Did they see you?"  
  
"I think they were a little too busy with each other."  
  
She nodded. "So what about this is bothering you? The fact that you caught them in a private moment, the fact that they're both women, or that you're not sure what to tell Batman?"  
  
"This doesn't bother you at all?"  
  
"Well, as long as you didn't look in on them with the hope of seeing something like . . ."  
  
"No, no, I mean the whole 'two women together' angle," he interrupted.  
  
Leslie shook her head. "As this probably has no bearing on Ivy's health problems, it doesn't concern me. I suspect, in fact, that it might be good for Ms. Quinn's health. Being involved with the Joker strikes me as a surefire way to get oneself hurt or worse. And as for homosexuality – it's their private business. I don't often judge patients, and I don't see a need either."  
  
"I just think it's kind of weird," he replied. "But it's Batman that bothers me. Do I tell him or not?"  
  
"Knowing him, he'll probably figure it out on his own," she said. "Besides, this is information of a very personal and sensitive nature which you came by accidentally. I'm not sure you have a right to tell people what was until now a secret between Ivy and Harley."  
  
"Hey, no problem," he assured her. "I didn't exactly relish the notion of telling him, so if you've got a reason not to, I'll take it."  
  
"Take what?" Batman asked as he entered the room.  
  
Robin whirled around to face him, but his foot got tangled in one of the legs of the stool, and both crashed onto the floor.  
  
Batman merely looked on impassively as Leslie helped him back onto his feet. "Nothing," Robin told him, blushing furiously.   
  
"Where are they?"  
  
"Still together in the examining room."  
  
His expression didn't change, as usual. "Leslie, do you have anything yet?"  
  
"Her symptoms are definitely legitimate," she replied. "Her body suffered a massive allergic reaction, although I can't say whether it was the grass or something else. In fact I can't pinpoint any reason why her body is reacting that way, or what the cause is. I've still got plenty of tests to run, as well as the DNA tests, but my final report won't be for a couple of days, Bruce."  
  
Instead of answering, he reached into his belt and pulled a small glass vial out. "I need to use the examining room next to Ivy's for a few minutes."  
  
"What for?" she asked.  
  
"You'll see," he said cryptically. "And as for you, Robin - _if_ you can stay on your feet tonight – you can help move some things I have in the hallway."  
  
"I'll be fine," Robin muttered.  
  
"Good."  
_________________________________________  
  
"Now don't they look like a couple of angels," Leslie murmured.  
  
"Yeah, Hell's Angels," Robin replied.  
  
Harley and Ivy were slumped against the wall, fast asleep. Ivy's head had fallen down to rest on the other woman's shoulder.   
  
"Don't wake them," Batman cautioned them as they stepped back, allowing him to enter the room.  
  
Silently approaching them, he crouched down in front of her. Affixing the glass vial to a small mechanical device, he pressed the trigger. A light cloud of dust particles hissed out into Ivy's face. She coughed a few times in her sleep, wrinkled her nose, and turned her face a little more towards Harley's shoulder.  
  
He frowned and got up again.  
  
"What was that stuff?" Robin asked. "Medication?"  
  
"Pollen," he replied as they closed the door again.  
  
"What?"  
  
"It was nothing more than air with a very high pollen count, like those summer days that are the worst for allergy sufferers," he explained. "It _should_ have provoked a much more violent reaction from her."  
  
"That was irresponsible, Bruce," Leslie warned him. "That's just what she should be staying away from in her condition."  
  
"That's what she _thinks_ she should be staying away from," he corrected her. "But obviously, it wasn't a problem."  
  
Robin scratched his head. "I don't get it," he said. "I thought she got sick when she breathed in pollen."  
  
Batman put the device away. "I think, because of the very strange things we've seen in Gotham, we've become accustomed to accepting explanations which normally would defy scientific reason. The Man-Bat, Clayface, Ivy's own creations – because of that, we assumed that the story Ivy gave us about a surgical operation that altered her genetic structure was not only possible, but plausible."  
  
"But you had doubts," Leslie added.  
  
"I did. Arkham employs doctors, not scientists, and it always has a very tight budget. The idea that they could develop something as complicated and dangerous as a surgical procedure that distorts a person's DNA for a very specific purpose, and that it's successful, is something too fantastical even for Gotham," Batman continued.  
  
"Does this mean we think she's lying?" Robin asked.  
  
"I doubt it," he said. "Granted, she's exceptionally devious, but to intentionally cut herself off from the plants she loves so much – she's crazy, but she's not stupid. Plants are the only things she cares about." He paused. "What?"  
  
Robin had glanced briefly at Leslie after the last comment about Ivy and what she cared about. "Nothing," he said for the second time that night. "Just she seems even more attached to Harley than usual."  
  
"I'm still trying to decipher that myself," Batman admitted. "Then again, I've never entirely understood their friendship, either." He grew quiet. "I suspect she was going to kill herself earlier tonight, also."  
  
"No fu . . ." Robin began, but quickly stopped when the two adults glared at him piercingly. "No way," he added lamely.  
  
"How can you be sure?" Leslie asked him.   
  
"I found a noose in her garbage," he replied. "And there was other evidence that she'd been intending to do herself in, as well."  
  
Leslie frowned. "You should have told me, Bruce. I realize she's been in therapy every day she's been a prisoner at Arkham, but if she's been suicidal as of late, then she absolutely needs help with that."  
  
"Only if we can't figure out what's causing her allergies," Batman replied. "If she gets her old life back, I don't think she'll want to harm herself again."  
  
"But if we can't," Leslie told him forcefully, "then we get her into treatment."  
  
"Fine," he agreed.  
  
"So if there's nothing wrong with her and she's telling the truth," Robin asked, "then what's going on here?"  
  
"What the doctors at Arkham know a little something about," Batman guessed shrewdly. "Either a mental or psychological condition that makes her body _think_ she's allergic."  
  
"Is that possible?"  
  
"It's the placebo effect, Robin," Leslie told him. "Patients felt better after being given sugar pills which their doctors said were actually powerful medicine. Their minds told their bodies that they were supposed to get better, so they did."  
  
"But it calls for further experimenting," Batman added. "Which is why I had you set up the next room over like I told you. We have to wake them up and get Poison Ivy into that room alone."  
  
"I think separating those two might be a little difficult."  
______________________________________________  
  
"This is so stupid," Ivy grumbled.  
  
"Can't I _please_ go with her?" Harley begged.  
  
"Not a chance," Batman muttered.  
  
"But it's just one room over!"  
  
"He needs absolute concentration, Harley," Leslie reminded her. "He can't have you distracting him."  
  
"Oh, pooh," she pouted, folding her arms.  
  
"Besides, then we'd have to blindfold both of you," Robin pointed out.  
  
"Yeah, but then you could give us broomsticks and we could pretend Batman is a piñata," she replied brightly.  
  
"I don't give candy," he retorted.  
  
Ivy sighed and, reaching up with her hands, which had been cuffed together again, tried to adjust the thick black cloth around the upper half of her face.  
  
"Leave it," Batman told her, batting her hands back down.  
  
"It itches," she complained.  
  
"Then it can take your mind off your back."  
  
Ivy felt smaller, more familiar hands take her own. "I'll be right outside," she heard Harley say quietly. "I don't trust this. Why doesn't he want you to see what he's doing?"  
  
"Maybe I'd get to see the man behind the mask," she replied cunningly.  
  
"We'd finally have a face to go with that lockjaw," Harley added.  
  
"Let's go, Harley."  
  
"Hey, lay off, twerp!" Ivy heard Harley being dragged away.  
  
"Is this absolutely necessary?" she asked.  
  
"By the time I'm finished," he said, "I expect to have this whole thing figured out."  
  
"Then what were the medical tests for?" she muttered.  
  
"Take it easy, Ivy," Leslie reminded her. "You got some ointment for your rash, anyway."  
  
Ivy's skin burned where Batman rested his hand on her shoulder. "Ouch!"  
  
"Sorry." His hand moved down to her elbow before she felt herself being led somewhere else, then heard the sound of a door closing.  
  
"Sit," he commanded as she felt the back of her legs bump against a chair.  
  
She did so sullenly. "I'm not your dog, you know."  
  
"Others would say you're a real bitch, Ivy."  
  
Ivy blinked, or tried to under the thick blindfold. Was that a joke? An off-color joke, no less?   
  
"I need you to sit perfectly still for five minutes," he went on. "Then I can take the blindfold off. All right?"  
  
She wasn't entirely sure whether he was in front of or behind her. But she heard scraping sounds that suggested he was pulling another chair or a table across the floor. "Fine," she said, "but others would also say you're a real bastard, Bat."  
  
"I can live with it," he replied, but then he said nothing more.  
  
"What is that smell?" she asked two minutes later, her nose wrinkling as she felt something being passed underneath.  
  
"Vicks Vaporub," he said. "Strong, isn't it?"  
  
"Too strong," Ivy grumbled. "The scent is practically clogging my nostrils."  
  
He had no reply, and she was forced to wait three more minutes before she heard him speak again. "Raise your hands," he told her. "Stretch them out."  
  
Exhaling in irritation, she put her hands out. There was obviously something in front of her, because her fingertips grazed something very light and fragile.  
  
"A little lower."  
  
It was as her hands drifted downward that she realized he had asked her to press them against flowers. "What the fuck?" she snapped, her hands flinching backward.  
  
He ripped the blindfold off of her face and her hands shrank back against her chest. A veritable bouquet of daisies was in front of her, growing inside a plant pot. Instantly she felt her fingers itching badly. "You sick . . ." she began to say, looking up at him, but the words died on her lips.  
  
She was surrounded by plants – at least forty of them.  
  
They were on the floor, just inches from her ankles. They were on the countertops and windowsill around her. He'd even rigged a fern to hang from the ceiling somehow. A chill ran down her spine, in part because this sight now inspired fear in her, not satisfaction.  
  
Ivy almost shot to her feet, but she was afraid her ankles or legs might brush up against leaves of some kind. She felt her throat closing up. "How could you do this to me? When did you bring these in here?" she gasped.  
  
"About ten minutes before I brought you in here, Ivy."  
  
She stared at him. "That's impossible," she said. "Even if I haven't been touching these plants, just by being around them I've been breathing in their . . ."  
  
"Exactly," he replied, "just like you breathed in a concentrated burst of pollen that I sprayed into your face while you were sleeping. Your body should be on overload right now. So why isn't it?"  
  
Ivy shook her head slowly, unable to comprehend. She glanced down at her fingers. "And what about this?" she asked triumphantly, shoving her hands in his face. The fingertips were turning red and sore looking.  
  
"Those flowers are dead, Ivy. I bought them from a florist and shoved the cut stems down into a pot full of dirt. You just thought they were alive."   
  
Whipping her head around, she stared at the flowers more closely. Impulsively she grabbed them by the stems and tore them from the soil with a great pull, although even a mild tug would have sufficed.   
  
She clutched them in her hand until her knuckles turned white. "He told me I had to stay away from living plants, but dead plants, oh, that was all right. He even . . . that motherfucker!" Snarling, she did something that was most unusual for her – she flung the daisies to the floor and stomped on them.  
  
"Ivy," he began.  
  
"He tricked me, that sonofabitch," she growled. "I know more about plants than anyone on this planet, and he made me look like a goddamned amateur."  
  
"Doctor Park? What did he do?"  
  
She chuckled bitterly. "He had me smell the scent from some cut tulips and some potted roses, just to show me how the one was safe while the other was dangerous."  
  
"And?" Batman prompted her.  
  
Ivy looked exasperated with him. "He did the same thing with the roses that you did with the daisies, Batman. Those long-stemmed roses don't just grow in pots like that; that specific type of flower only grows in very limited and carefully monitored locations, not in a simple pot. I'm a fool, Bat." She inspected her fingers and was not surprised to see how quickly the redness was receding.  
  
"I don't think he's altered your genes, Ivy," Batman said. "I think it's your mind."  
  
"I'll kill him," she hissed.  
  
"No, you won't," he told her. "Be happy that this is almost over."  
  
"What do you mean, almost? I realize now that this is all in my head. My own traitorous brain is telling my body to be allergic. Well, it's not going to do it any more," she promised. She gestured to the various plants. "Are these all alive?"  
  
He nodded mutely.  
  
She went up to some flowers and, gently caressing the petals, smelled deeply. "See? I'm back, Batman. I . . ."   
  
But Ivy was unable to continue as she sneezed three times very loudly.  
  
Batman had already come to her side. Lifting up her right hand by the wrist, he saw that the fading rash had darkened in color again. "I don't think it's as simple as that, Ivy."  
  
She flicked a tear from her eye and inspected her hands. "Fuck," she whispered. She raised her head and looked at him unhappily. "Can I see Harley now?"  
__________________________________  
  
"Remember, Harl," Ivy reminded her. "If he even tries to make me into a good girl while I'm under, you have my permission to clobber him."  
  
"Hush, Ivy," Leslie chided her. "He wouldn't do that. He'd be no better than your doctor at Arkham."  
  
"Oh yes," Ivy retorted, "I trust him so."  
  
"Quiet," Batman commanded. "I can't hypnotize you if you keep talking. And I definitely can't if she even _starts_ talking," he added, pointing a thumb at Harley.  
  
She stuck her tongue out at him.  
  
"All right," he sighed, looking into Ivy's eyes. "Keep your eye on . . ."  
  
He droned on so effectively that he almost put both Ivy _and_ Harley into trances.  
  
"Do you know who you are?" Batman asked Ivy when he had her deeply within a trance state.  
  
"Poison Ivy," she replied simply. Evidently she no longer saw herself as Pamela Isley even in her own mind.  
  
"And where you are?"  
  
"In a hospital."  
  
"And why you're here?"  
  
Her face turned wistful and sad. "I am violently allergic to plants. Prolonged exposure can be lethal."  
  
"Were you always like this?"  
  
"No."  
  
"When did it begin?"  
  
"A few days ago."  
  
"How did it happen?"  
  
"I do not know exactly. I was asleep when it was done to me."  
  
"Done to you by whom?"  
  
"Dr. Park. He told me himself."  
  
"But you are not allergic to plants, Ivy. You only think you are."  
  
"I am violently allergic to plants. Prolonged exposure can be lethal."  
  
"Do you want to be?"  
  
"No. Plants are one of the only two things in this world that I love."  
  
Robin blinked. "Uh-oh," he thought.  
  
"Really?" Batman asked, sounding slightly amused. "You love something as much as plants? What?"  
  
"Harley," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
Not to Batman, apparently, who slowly turned his head to look at Harley. She was sitting off to the side, practically turning red down to her fingertips.  
  
"I see," he said quietly.  
  
"I miss my plants," she went on softly, "but I think I can still be happy with her."  
  
Harley was staring determinedly at her lap, but she couldn't help smiling very broadly.  
  
He had no response to Ivy, so he had no choice but to continue. "Listen to me. Repeat after me – I am not allergic to plants."  
  
"I am not allergic to plants," she said awkwardly.  
  
"Exactly. Now, when I . . ."  
  
"I am violently allergic to plants. Prolonged exposure – "  
  
"Stop," Batman interrupted her. "You are _no longer_ allergic to plants. Say it."  
  
"I am no longer allergic to plants."  
  
"Again."  
  
"I am no longer allergic to plants."  
  
He waited for a few seconds.  
  
"I am violently allergic to plants . . ."  
  
"Damn," he muttered as she once again explained how plants could kill her. "This shouldn't be happening."  
  
"What's wrong with her?" Harley asked timidly.  
  
"My hypnotic suggestion should be overriding whatever has been done to her," he replied. "It's almost like every time I tell her she's not allergic, she hears another voice telling her she _is_. It's more than just simple hypnosis."  
  
"Mind control," Leslie murmured.  
  
Harley looked up at last. "Jervis," she whispered.   
  
Batman sighed and nodded as he began bringing Ivy out of her trance. "I think we have another reason to return to Arkham."  
  
To be continued . . . 


	8. Chapter Eight

Title: It's Just Allergies (8/??)  
Author: Allaine  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
Distribution: Probably at fanfiction.net and the factsofslash group. Anyone interested should just ask, and can expect a positive answer.  
Spoilers: Takes place after the New Batman/Superman Adventures, with one alteration - in my story, Ivy's skin never turned white like the Joker's. So she still looks like you and me.  
Feedback: Well, this fanfic is uncharted territory for me, so reader opinions may very well determine whether I finish it or not. So I would encourage it even more than usual.  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimers: All characters belong to . . . let's see, DC Comics, Kids WB and the Cartoon Network, the producers of the two Batman serials, the talented artists and voice actors, etc. I have borrowed them entirely without permission, for which I humbly beg forgiveness, but I seek no form of profit from this undertaking.  
Summary: When Poison Ivy finds her well-being threatened by the unlikeliest of sources, Harley Quinn proves that Ivy doesn't have to be alone anymore, ever again. My first Batman fanfiction.  
_______________________________________________________  
  
(Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to Jen Kinloch, for all the discussions we've had lately about Harley and Ivy, which I've enjoyed so much. And if anyone else ever wants to talk in more detail than just a few lines in a review, feel free to write to the above email address. Thanks.)  
  
Chapter 8  
  
"You should go," Ivy suggested. "You've told me all about that time you led the Bat to the Joker and his atomic bomb. He left you in here, and you were out within five minutes. So you should do whatever you did the last time."  
  
"Nuh-uh," Harley replied stubbornly. "Not going anywhere."  
  
"We're parked outside of Arkham, Harley. You know, the place you escaped from less than twelve hours ago? The place they want to put you back inside?" Ivy reminded her. "As soon as this is over with, he's going to come back and take you back to your cell. Why won't you get away while he's inside doing who knows what?"  
  
"Because he's probably going to put you back inside too," Harley said, as if it was the most obvious thing. "The only reason you were released was because they figured with your mind under their control, you wouldn't break the law. Well, as soon as their power over you is broken, won't they want to have you re-admitted?"  
  
Ivy paused, mouth slightly open. She hadn't thought of that at all. "Crap," she muttered. "I won't even get to enjoy my latest taste of freedom."  
  
"I thought you enjoyed a little of it," Harley said hesitantly. "I did."  
  
The redhead looked down and saw Harley's hands, wrists once again adorned with steel handcuffs like hers were, slipping into hers. Much like their earlier trip, the two women were wedged tightly into the passenger side. Ivy could have scooted over a little, now that the driver's seat was unoccupied, but only if she wanted a stick shift up her rear. Besides, she liked being scrunched up against Harley this time as much as she had the last time.  
  
She squeezed Harley's hands. "Some of it was . . . very nice. I keep forgetting how smart you are."  
  
"You're the only person who _knows_ how smart I am," Harley answered cheekily. And she giggled, briefly crossing her eyes.  
  
"So I'll be going back in. No big deal. Now that I'll be able to get close to my darling plants again, I can just get out the way I usually do," she said idly. "Without permission."  
  
"Yeah, but I don't want to wait around on the outside while waiting for you to escape from the inside," Harley responded. "Either we're both in, or we're both out."  
  
"Then let's make it 'out'," Ivy immediately said, tugging at Harley's cuffs.  
  
But Harley shook her head. "You need the Bat to turn off whatever they did, remember?"  
  
"Damn!" Ivy swore. She'd forgotten. "I can't have you trapped in there because of me, Harley. And I'd rather you were nowhere near the Joker."  
  
"Jealous?"  
  
"Frightened. He likes to hurt you, Harley," she pointed out unhappily. "He has a power over you, and he asserts it whenever the whim hits him. When I'm forced to sit there and watch as he makes you do the most degrading things, as he demeans your existence and cheapens your talents . . ." She looked down and felt a tear roll down her cheek. ". . . I hate him so much."  
  
Harley moved in even closer and rested her chin on Ivy's shoulder. "You haven't asked me yet what happened while you were hypnotized."  
  
Ivy hadn't. With the Bat around the entire time since then, she hadn't had the privacy she desired. "You made sure he didn't give me any triggers or anything that would make me into a good little girl, right?"  
  
"Mm-hmm."  
  
"And he figured out the Hatter was involved."  
  
Harley nodded.  
  
"So what else is there to know? Unless – I didn't say something embarrassing, did I?"  
  
"I don't know. How embarrassed would you be if you knew that you told everyone you loved me as much as you love plants?" Harley asked. "And that you could probably live without plants as long as you still had me?"  
  
Ivy stared at her, shocked. "I said that?"   
  
"And you meant it," Harley continued wonderingly. "You were hypnotized, so you had to say how you really, truly felt."  
  
"Well, of course I meant it," Ivy replied, still a little flustered. "I already told you once before how I felt about you. What," she added with some scorn, although not directed at her, "didn't the wonderful Mr. J mean it when he said it?"  
  
"He never said it."  
  
"What . . . you mean you've been going on about your great love for each other for all this time, and he never even told you he loved you?" Ivy asked, astounded.   
  
"I thought he was the strong, silent type," Harley said feebly.  
  
"Since when is your one true love silent about _anything_?" Ivy reminded her. "He'll share his opinion about anything."  
  
Harley just looked down, humiliated.  
  
"Oh, no, Harley," Ivy said, softening instantly. "I didn't mean to be nasty. I just . . ."  
  
"I know, you hate my puddin'."  
  
Ivy refrained from grinding her teeth at the sound of that detestable name. "Yes, Harley, just like your 'puddin' hates me. And I'm afraid you're going to have to make a choice at some point, because now I can't go on just being your friend while you're in the Joker's bed, and I know he's something of the possessive type."  
  
Harley trembled. "I don't know, Ivy. I mean, I've been with him for so long, and all my fantasies and dreams for the future were about him."  
  
Ivy looked away. "I see."  
  
"And I thought it was all right if he didn't actually say he loved me, as long as I _believed_ he loved me. But . . . then you said it, and it made me feel _so_ good," Harley continued, her eyes welling up. "And now I'm not sure I could take being with a man who can't make me feel that way himself because he can't say those words, because he's more comfortable hurting me. Being in that kind of relationship when there's something kinder waiting for me – maybe that is crazy."   
  
Ivy almost didn't dare to breathe as she looked into Harley's eyes. "I'll say that I love you as often as you like, Harley. I'll say it in front of the Bat, in front of the TV cameras. I'll even say it in front of a room full of Arkham inmates."  
  
"Could you say it, maybe, just once more?"  
  
"I love you, Harley."  
  
Harley burst into tears.  
  
Ivy pulled back, appalled. "Uh, Harley . . ."  
  
"Oh, Red, I want to be with you too!" Harley bawled as she tried to hug Ivy. But the chain on her handcuffs got in the way. "Shit!" she screeched, and she picked the lock with such a vengeance that she had them off her wrists in fifteen seconds. Then she flung her arms around Ivy's neck and squeezed tightly.  
  
"Can't . . . breathe . . ."  
  
"Oops!" Harley gasped, letting go. Then she smiled craftily. "How 'bout I give you some oxygen then?" Leaning forward so that their noses barely touched, she placed her lips on top of Ivy's.  
  
When they separated about a minute later, Ivy was flushed and both women were breathing heavily. "Wow," Ivy whispered.  
  
"So anyway," Harley went on casually as she bent over and worked on Ivy's cuffs, as if nothing had happened, "wherever you go, I go. And if the Bat wants to put you back inside, then I'll just wait here to be picked up too."  
  
"Well," Ivy said speculatively as she massaged her wrists, Harley having removed her bonds, "how fast can you figure out how to open this thing?"  
  
Grinning like a cat, Harley pushed one of the dozens of buttons on Batman's dashboard, and the windshield pulled back in less than a second. "All this time, and he hasn't changed a thing. I can make a drag chute pop out of the trunk, too."  
  
Ivy chuckled. "Then since we're both going back anyway, how about we go back a little ahead of schedule?"  
__________________________________________________  
  
The little man looked up from his bed at the shadow looming over him. "Would you like a cup of tea, Batman?"  
  
"Heard about Ivy?" Batman asked.  
  
"Oh yes," the Mad Hatter said, clucking his tongue. "They were telling the worst sort of jokes about her during group session."  
  
"I heard you joined in," Batman replied. "Something about making her allergic to pollen."  
  
"Yes, well, that would be the height of irony, wouldn't it?"  
  
"Sort of like the way hatters used to go mad because of the chemicals in the very hats they created and wore?"  
  
Jervis Tetch chuckled wryly. "I suppose so, Batman. So, come to see the latest model?"  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"Come, come, Batman," Jervis chided him. "You and I both know what's going on here. I knew Dr. Park let you in on our little circle the minute you asked about Ms. Ivy. Dr. Park says it's going to be the new wave in behavior modification." He sounded upbeat, but he couldn't quite disguise the unenthusiastic look in his eye.  
  
"Sure you don't have any qualms about using your mind control devices on fellow Rogues, Jervis?" Batman asked.   
  
"Why, of course not," the Hatter blustered. "Dr. Park promised that he would take care of me. Here," he said, pulling a very small metal microchip out from under his mattress. "Look at this little wonder. Surgically implant it in the scalp of that Mock Turtle who calls himself 'Croc' and his skin will burn in reaction to the first contact with water. He won't be retreating to any more sewers, will he?"  
  
"Water?" Batman asked, stunned. "And how's he supposed to take a drink?"  
  
The Mad Hatter flicked his wrist. "Oh, any other liquid will do – juices, milk, sodas. He can _bathe_ in beer and not get hurt. It's only fresh water and salt water that his mind will insist are dangerous."  
  
"So that's where Ivy has hers," Batman replied. "Under her scalp."  
  
"That would be the most efficacious place."  
  
But Jervis shrank back against the wall as the Bat drew himself to such a height that he entirely blotted out whatever light was in the cell. It was like he'd eclipsed the sun.  
  
"And how," Batman growled as he seized Jervis by the shirt, reducing him to absolute terror, "will the doctor be taking care of _you_, Hatter, while everyone else here gets back their mental health at the possible cost of their lives?!"  
  
"Er, now, well, Batman . . . perhaps maybe you weren't a part of this little scheme," Jervis babbled. He glanced to both sides for a moment before he grabbed the Bat's wrist and broke down completely. "I had to do it, Batman! He's the one who runs the asylum! He could overmedicate me, undermedicate me, take my privileges away. For God's sake, Batman, I didn't want to! I never had anything against Miss Isley, never. But I had no choice! It's not just the two of us, you know. _He's_ been keeping his eye on me ever since Dr. Park put him in the cell across from mine!" he added, pointing past Batman.  
  
Not having noticed who was in the cell opposite, Batman looked over his shoulder. And discovered the former chief of security staring intently at him. As soon as their eyes met, Lockup quickly but casually turned his head and walked to the other side of his cell.  
  
"I should have guessed," Batman murmured.  
  
"Please, Batman," Jervis begged. "You can't confront Dr. Park. Lockup will kill me if you do."  
  
"I'll take care of Lockup later," Batman said, shoving the Hatter back. Taking the chip from his other hand, he crushed it between his fingers, and Jervis moaned pitifully.   
  
He turned to leave, but before he did, the Hatter spoke up once more. "Have you seen Poison Ivy recently?"  
  
"Recently."  
  
"She's going to kill me, isn't she?"  
  
The Bat said nothing.  
  
"Would you give her a message? Tell her I weep for her, I deeply sympathize," the Hatter said, resigned.  
  
Sweeping out of the cell and closing it once more, Batman shot Lockup a quick look before continuing on toward the doctors' offices.   
  
After he had gone, the Hatter tried his best to ignore the burning stare coming from across the corridor.  
___________________________________________  
  
As Batman approached Dr. Park's office, he saw by the light under the door that he was still in. Arkham physicians frequently kept late hours. He reached for the doorknob, but discovered it was locked. So he knocked instead. "Dr. Park?" he asked.  
  
He was about to knock again when he heard someone's voice coming from inside the office. "Let him in, Harley."  
  
Batman's hand froze as he heard those words. Before he could react, the door was unlocked and opened. Harley stood on the other side, looking utterly serious. "We're having group therapy," she said. "Come on in, there's plenty of seats available."  
  
Shoving past her, he found the doctor sprawled on the floor, Ivy on top of him with her knees pressing against his shoulders. One hand was wrapped around his throat, while the other hand held a hypodermic needle containing who knew what. "Ivy!" he snarled. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Dr. Park wasn't very happy to see us," she growled. "Tried to stab me with this needle and inject me with – chlorophyll, maybe? Or something equally silly that only someone with a mind-altering voice in their head would fall for."  
  
"Get her off me, Batman," Park pleaded. "Can't you see she's insane?"  
  
"I thought you gave her a clean bill of health, Doc," Harley reminded him.  
  
"No one gave you your walking papers, Quinn," he retorted, regaining his confidence now that the Bat was present. "You're both mad. Obviously I was wrong about Ms. Isley. She's become paranoid."  
  
Batman opened his other fist and let the remains of the Mad Hatter's second chip sprinkle onto the floor. "You were going to turn Killer Croc into a hydrophobe?"  
  
"A what?" Harley said, somewhat vacantly.  
  
"Can the bimbo routine," Batman snapped at her. "I stopped thinking you were stupid a long time ago."  
  
"Oh. Darn it."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Park asked innocently.  
  
"Enough games," Ivy hissed, pressing the point of the needle against his throat. "You tell me how you messed with my mind and how to stop it, or I stick this in your neck as often as it takes until I find your trachea _and_ your esophagus. Then they can get you one of those nice voice boxes."  
  
"The Hatter confessed, Ivy," the Bat told her. "There's a very small chip that was implanted underneath your scalp. A simple X-ray should determine the location, and then we can remove it in no time."  
  
Ivy glared at the doctor with fresh hatred. "You sick bastard. You've lied to me from the beginning."  
  
"So I did," Park shot back. "Only a normal, healthy person can appreciate the importance of my work in this regard. So often treatment for mental illness requires medication, then psychotherapy, and finally behavior modification. But with these chips and the right programming, we can skip the first two stages entirely _and_ achieve a greater success rate than even the most proficient and experienced behaviorist."  
  
"Success rate?!" Harley screeched. "Ivy almost died because of your stupid chip!"  
  
"Which only further reinforced the lesson that she couldn't go near living plants," he replied.  
  
"That's not what she was talking about," Ivy murmured. "I almost killed myself tonight. I would have if Harley hadn't saved me."  
  
"There are bound to be mistakes in the beginning," he admitted. "But I can have them worked out as the operation progresses. Soon I can have each and every inmate in here neutralized as a threat to society, thus freeing this hospital's resources to treat the problems of normal people."  
  
"Oh, so I break the law, and that makes me abnormal," Ivy sneered.  
  
Dr. Park glared at her. "Who better deserves the best of treatment? A depressed wife and mother, and a businessman suffering from a nervous breakdown? Or a malcontented loner who would rather spend time with a patch of crabgrass than an actual human being, and a delusional sheep whose obsessions have warped her sense of right and wrong and who interprets a battering as love? You're hopeless, Isley. You and Quinn are both incurable. Without reprogramming, you'll never be more than poxes on society, sociopaths incapable of real, healthy emotions or feelings for anyone other than yourselves."  
  
"I've heard about enough for tonight," Batman said. With a sudden motion he pulled Ivy off of the doctor and yanked the needle out of her grip.  
  
"No, you bastard!" she shrieked. "You can't let him do this to me!"  
  
"Hold onto her," the Bat said to Harley, ignoring Ivy's ranting and pushing the redhead into the other woman's arms. "And as for you," he continued, pointing a finger at Park, "we're going down to the infirmary, and you and I are going to remove that chip from her head."  
  
"You can't be serious," Park spluttered as he struggled to his feet. "This is the only way!"  
  
"Having run this hospital long enough, maybe you've come to believe that," Batman replied. "Maybe it's easier just to wash your hands of these people. It certainly appealed to your friend Lockup, didn't it?"  
  
"I can't allow this!"  
  
"That's not an issue. After tonight I'll see to it that you're removed from your post as head of Arkham. And if you're lucky, you'll avoid criminal charges and only be disbarred," Batman told him firmly. "And for your information, for someone who's been treating her all this time, you really seem to have read Ivy wrong."  
  
Ivy blinked as she clung to Harley. "Did he just compliment me?"  
  
"Well, I think he suggested that you really are a human being, so I don't know, did he?"  
  
"I'd certainly take you over crabgrass any day."  
  
"Then yeah, he did."  
  
To be continued . . . 


	9. Final Chapter

Title: It's Just Allergies (9/9)  
Author: Allaine  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
Distribution: Probably at fanfiction.net and the factsofslash group. Anyone interested should just ask, and can expect a positive answer.  
Spoilers: Takes place after the New Batman/Superman Adventures, with one alteration - in my story, Ivy's skin never turned white like the Joker's. So she still looks like you and me.  
Feedback: Well, this fanfic is uncharted territory for me, so reader opinions may very well determine whether I finish it or not. So I would encourage it even more than usual.  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimers: All characters belong to . . . let's see, DC Comics, Kids WB and the Cartoon Network, the producers of the two Batman serials, the talented artists and voice actors, etc. I have borrowed them entirely without permission, for which I humbly beg forgiveness, but I seek no form of profit from this undertaking.  
Summary: When Poison Ivy finds her well-being threatened by the unlikeliest of sources, Harley Quinn proves that Ivy doesn't have to be alone anymore, ever again. My first Batman fanfiction.  
_______________________________________________________  
  
Chapter 9  
  
Ivy thought it looked familiar, but as she rubbed the leaves of the potted plant against her cheek, she remembered. "This is the shooting star vine I gave you, isn't it?" she asked Harley.  
  
Harley nodded. "It was still in my cell. I didn't think it was safe to try to bring it with me when I escaped. I wanted to, though."  
  
She put the plant aside. She was happy, of course; working with plants gave her purpose. But somehow, it just wasn't the big moment it would have been a few days ago. Then she gingerly felt her head through her hair. "I'm not going to get a bald spot, am I?"  
  
"The chip was implanted just beneath the skin," Batman explained as he washed his hands before putting his gloves back on. "So it was no different from the most minor corrective surgery. No one will ever notice."  
  
He took the glass vial in which he'd placed the chip and inverted it. When the chip hit the floor, he ground it to dust under the heel of his boot.  
  
Dr. Park, a very reluctant participant in the surgery, gnashed his teeth as he sat in a corner of the room, watching Batman destroy the last of his "dream".  
  
"What happens to him?" Ivy asked, glaring at the doctor.  
  
"He won't last another twenty-four hours as head of Arkham," the Bat replied. "And he'll probably have his license to practice revoked. Meanwhile, I'm going to have Lockup transferred to another, more solitary wing before he turns the Mad Hatter into an even bigger basket case."  
  
Ivy sighed. "Go ahead. People like the Hatter and I, we tend to screw each other sooner or later. And Lockup is a friend to no one." She started pulling her boots back on.  
  
"What about Ivy? What happens to her?" Harley asked.  
  
Batman considered them both carefully. "I'll answer that in a minute. First, I want to take care of him," he answered, jerking a thumb at Dr. Park. "Don't go anywhere," he warned them before taking the psychiatrist by the arm and leading him out.  
  
"You don't suppose they'd let us share a cell, do you?" Ivy wondered.  
  
"Nope. 'Security risk'," Harley said, bending her fingers like quotation marks.  
  
Ivy reached over and took Harley by the hand. "I guess we won't have a whole lot of 'alone time' while we're in here."  
  
Harley shrugged. "Doesn't matter. We can just bust out like we always do."  
  
"True," Ivy admitted.  
  
The Bat returned, this time without the doctor. He looked at them some more. "So, what to do with you?" he pondered out loud.  
  
Unconsciously, both women scooted a little closer together.  
  
"Harley, since you escaped, you're considered a fugitive," he began. "But technically, Ivy is still free. Her release papers are valid."  
  
"But everyone will know _why_ I was released," Ivy pointed out, "and they'll want to put me back in now that the chip is gone." She most certainly did not want Harley to be alone with the Joker in Arkham. It wasn't that she didn't trust her; it was _him_ she didn't trust.  
  
"Probably," he agreed, "but as of right now, you're a free woman. You can return to your halfway house, if you like. Or you could voluntarily commit yourself back into Arkham, if you like."  
  
Ivy hadn't thought of that, and she and Harley looked at each other. "Check myself in?" Ivy said.  
  
"That'd be a first," Harley responded.  
  
"Of course," Batman went on, "it might not do you any good. After all, the doctor did suggest that you're a hopeless case, incapable of the slightest hint of humanity."  
  
She gave him a decidedly hostile look. "Well, Park was talking out of his ass before."  
  
Harley started giggling, but she managed to contain herself.  
  
"Are you sure?" he asked.  
  
"Harley told me about my hypnotic session," Ivy answered. "She told me what I said to you – about my feelings."  
  
He paused. "That was . . . surprising."  
  
"If I was the sociopathic, soulless monster that my own psychiatrist made me out to be, could I really love Harley?" she shot back.  
  
"Harley says she loves the Joker," Batman retorted, "and everyone thinks that makes her crazy."  
  
"Harley is obsessed with him. She doesn't love him. She just can't tell the two apart," Ivy responded before recalling that Harley was sitting right next to her. "No offense, Harl."  
  
Harley thought about what Ivy said and made no reply.  
  
"My love for her," Ivy continued forcefully, "is not a symptom of mental illness. It comes from within here," she said, putting her hand over her breast. "It comes from her being special to me. It's one of the healthiest feelings I've ever had."  
  
"Prove it," he challenged her.  
  
"Excuse me? What, am I supposed to make out with her for your pleasure?"  
  
"Prove it," he repeated. "Prove that you're right, and the doctor is wrong. Prove that you and Harley can share something normal."  
  
Ivy looked at him, unsure.  
  
"Take a week," Batman decided. "Go back to your apartment, and take Harley with you. Or go someplace else. The police may keep looking for Harley, but I'll hold back. Use that week to explore your feelings for each other. No elaborate crimes, no lawbreaking. Just do the normal things that couples do together – eat out, see a movie, talk. Prove this isn't insanity."  
  
"Wait a minute," Ivy interrupted. "You're saying the two of us can walk out of here tonight? Together?"  
  
"What happens if we do something bad?" Harley asked.  
  
"Then I come down on you like a ton of bricks and toss you both back in here," he said sternly. "And I'll see that you're kept away from each other."  
  
Ivy thought about it. They could do anything, as long as it wasn't illegal. She could keep Harley away from her abusive boyfriend. Maybe after a whole week alone together, Harley would be a little less attached to the Joker, and a little more attached to her. She turned to Harley. "What do you think?"  
  
"Well," she said, "the whole 'no crime' thing sounds kind of boring." She looked down at her fingers. "But the rest of it sounds pretty nice," she admitted, blushing.  
  
The redhead looked back at Batman. "What happens at the end of the week?"  
  
He considered it. "We'll see. See if you're more than just someone addicted to crime."  
  
Ivy loved a challenge, especially when it came from _him_. "I'll do it," she decided.  
  
"We'll do it," Harley corrected her.  
  
Ivy blinked, and then smiled at her. "We," she agreed, turning red as well.  
___________________________________________  
  
"We can't stay here, you know," Harley said as they lay in bed together. "If they find me here, they'll call the police."  
  
They'd shared one more tight fit inside the Batmobile (as oddly pleasurable as ever) while the Bat drove them back to where Ivy was staying. He hadn't said a word the whole time; he'd just given Ivy a look that said once again, "Prove it". And then he was gone.  
  
Harley and Ivy had been exhausted by that time, so they'd just stripped down to their undergarments and slipped into bed together. But they hadn't slept. They just lay there in each other's arms.  
  
Ivy nodded. "We'll just have to move to a hideout. As long as the Bat isn't trying to find us, we'll be safe from the cops."  
  
"We could use the place I got my things from," Harley suggested.  
  
"Not a chance," Ivy immediately said. "I don't want to be anywhere your puddin' used to be."  
  
"Oh, sorry," Harley replied.  
  
"No need to be sorry," Ivy reassured her, caressing her cheek. "I have a place twenty minutes from here. Besides, if I don't go back soon, it'll be overrun by the plants there."  
  
"I guess you're happy that you can actually go near them again."  
  
Ivy smiled. "Very. But not as happy as you can make me."  
  
Harley's cheeks grew bright. "Oh, Red . . ." she whispered.  
  
This time it was Ivy who initiated the kiss, but it was still one they enjoyed equally.  
  
"When do you want to leave?" Harley asked.  
  
"How about tomorrow morning?" Ivy suggested. "That way they won't care that I'm gone until the following night."  
  
"Okay," Harley said happily. "Only, I need to go back to my hideout first. I have to get something."  
  
"I have money stashed at my place," Ivy told her. "We can just buy whatever . . ."  
  
"It's the babies," Harley replied. "I want to take the babies."  
  
Ivy closed her eyes and scowled. "Oh, Harley, not those hyenas again. They'll just pee on my plants."  
  
Harley removed her arms from Ivy's waist and folded them. "I refuse to leave them there all alone. They have to be fed and cared for, just like your plants. If you want to have a relationship with me, then the babies are non-negotiable." And she brought her chin up a little, just to show she was serious.  
  
Ivy chuckled. Then she grew serious as well. "If you want to have a relationship with me, then you can bring along whatever you like."   
  
"Take that, Batman," she then thought to herself. "I can be as selfless as the next girl."  
  
Grinning, Harley returned her arms to their original position, which was right where Ivy wanted them. "Thanks, Red. I won't be gone long."  
  
Ivy blinked. "What, you're leaving _now_?"  
  
"Well, you were just _so_ understanding a minute ago, so I'll just get them now, and then we'll have the rest of the night together." She smiled slyly, reading the look on Ivy's face. "You'll just have to wait a little, won't you?"  
  
The other woman groaned and put her head in her pillow. Nice girls really did finish last.  
  
The End.  
  
(To be continued in "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses") 


End file.
